


Jump

by thecomedownchampion, Weak



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Depression, Hale Family Feels, Inspired by Fringe, M/M, Panic Attacks, Romance, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-06 11:24:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 43,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1856314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecomedownchampion/pseuds/thecomedownchampion, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weak/pseuds/Weak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight years ago, Derek Hale's family was decimated in a gas leak explosion and he moved to New York with his surviving siblings, Laura and Cora. In the city of Manhattan, Derek thrives and leads a successful life as an artist until Laura is killed in an accident and he loses his muse. Desperate for money, Derek signs up to participate in a clinical trial at NYU for a new drug meant to treat depressive symptoms. But Derek soon finds that this drug is not what it seems when he begins to jump to a world where his family is alive and he works as a history TA at UC Berkeley. It is in this new world that Derek meets a young author, Stiles Stilinski, who captivates him to no end. </p><p>To Derek, this new-found ability is both a gift and a curse, but there are forces at work that he is unaware of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lucid

**Author's Note:**

> For a long time, I struggled with the notion of publishing this work for others to see. I wanted to keep it to myself, for my eyes alone. But in the end, I think that this is a work I can be proud of, and I hope that it can bring something to you, as it has for me. 
> 
> For D, who dreamed a little dream of me.

_“For it is impossible for anything to come to be from what is not, and it cannot be brought about or heard of that what is should be utterly destroyed.”_

_—Empedocles_

 

 

“Alright, Mr. Hale. I’m just going to go over your information with you to make sure that it’s all correct. As I’m sure you can understand, I will also be asking a few questions about your personal and familial medical history.”

“Go ahead.”

Dr. Argent bent his white-haired head over the clipboard in his hands, sitting perched on the chair next to his desk. “Your full name is Derek Cassidy Hale, spelled H-A-L-E, and you were born on the twenty-fifth of December, 1987. Your emergency contact is Cora Hale.”

“So far, so good,” said Derek. The leather lining of the padded table was cool against his palms. The walls were decorated with medical diagrams and posters that detailed the results of successful experiments that had been conducted at the university. There was a potted plant in the corner of the room next to the window that Derek suspected might be made of plastic.

“You are six feet tall and you weigh two hundred and eleven pounds. Blood type: O Positive,” Dr. Argent continued.

“Yep.”

“Blood pressure is good. No major hereditary diseases run in your family and you’re up to date on your vaccinations.” Dr. Argent flipped to the next sheet of paper. “I’m going to ask you some questions now. First of all: are you currently taking any medication?”

“I started taking Prozac again three months ago,” said Derek.

“Feeling any side effects?”

“Lower appetite and sex drive.”

Dr. Argent made a few notes on his clipboard. “Any other medications I should know about?”

“No.”

“Do you smoke?”

“No.”

“How much alcohol do you drink on a regular basis?”

“More, recently, but not usually enough to get drunk.”

Dr. Argent made one more note before he set down the pen and clipboard and looked up at Derek. “Now, as you know, this is a clinical trial. After administering the drug, we will keep close observation of you for the next hour to make sure that there are no immediate adverse reactions to the medication. You may experience some side effects; if so, I want you to contact me immediately. If all goes smoothly, you just have to come by next week so that we can check up on you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Derek.

“Now I just need you to read over and sign this.” Dr. Argent flipped the page on his clipboard before he handed it and his pen to Derek. The sheet facing him described the drug trial and the terms of Derek’s participation. There was also a description of the risks involved to ensure that subjects could not sue if they reacted poorly to the drug. Derek printed his name and the date at the bottom of the page before scrawling out the bizarre scribble that passed as his signature and handing the clipboard back to Dr. Argent. Argent looked over the contract and gave Derek a tight-lipped smile as he placed the clipboard and pen back on his desk and stood up. “Excellent. Just wait here and I’ll prepare the injection.”

Derek nodded and squeezed the padding beneath him as Argent left the room to fill the syringe. It only took two minutes, and then Argent was returning with a hypodermic needle containing pinkish fluid.

Argent instructed Derek to push up the sleeve of his t-shirt and promised him, “There will only be a slight pinch.”

Argent took an alcohol swab and dabbed at Derek’s arm, and Derek looked away as the old man brought the syringe to his deltoid. He held still as he felt a sharp prick, like being bitten by a horsefly, and then the pressure of the liquid being pushed into his muscle. A moment later, the needle was extracted and Argent pressed a cotton ball to Derek’s arm. Derek took the cotton ball himself and Argent safely disposed of the syringe.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Hale,” said Dr. Argent. “Now if you would please go to the waiting area with our other subjects. If you feel dizzy, let one of the supervisors know or feel free to help yourself to the juice boxes and granola bars available.”

Derek felt very much like he was in middle school again, but he said, “Okay,” and exited the room quietly.

 

Every year, the Hale family had two get-togethers: a summer reunion and a Christmas reunion. All of the extended aunts and uncles and cousins came to Fergus and Talia Hale’s house in Beacon Hills, California. The house was large, Victorian, and had just enough space to fit everyone if they didn’t mind close quarters. It was also on the edge of town in the wildlife preserve, which meant that the risk of noise disturbance was negligible and there was a great deal of privacy. The children could run around in the forest while the adults caught up on the past six months. It was perfect.

Eight years previous, there was a gas leak under the Hale house during their summer reunion. The gas ignited and eleven family members were killed. Derek and his two sisters, Cora and Laura, were making a grocery store run at the time. Their brother, Michael, had stayed behind to help wrangle the young children. The only survivor of the blast itself was Fergus’s brother, Peter Hale; though whether or not he truly survived depends on one’s definition of life. He was effectively brain dead and had suffered massive third degree burns. After a week with no positive indications of recovery, Laura let the hospital staff pull the plug and Peter’s organs were harvested for donation.

After the devastation, the three remaining siblings moved to Manhattan for a fresh start. Laura found work, Derek transferred universities, and Cora began high school. After Derek graduated, he moved into his own apartment nearby and Cora started at NYU with a major in anthropology. She graduated four years later with honours and immediately took to the field.

Their lives fell apart five months ago when Laura was killed in a car accident. It was one of those rare occasions when ‘accident’ really is the appropriate word for what occurred. No one was truly at fault; it just happened and now Laura Hale was gone.

Cora took a break and came back to New York from South America, where she’d been studying Amazonian cultures in Colombia, to help Derek sort out the funeral service and Laura’s life insurance. Though Derek majored in history in university, he had been creating and selling artwork since he graduated. With Laura’s death, Derek lost his muse. Cora tried to help him get his life back on the rails as best as she could, but after two months, she had to move on with her own and go back to South America. Derek took antidepressants for a while after his family’s deaths eight years ago, and his doctor recommended that he start taking them again now. But even with the pills, Derek hadn’t produced anything he could sell since Laura died.

Desperate for money, Derek jumped on the chance to make a buck when he read about the experimental drug trial that was being run at the university by Dr. Gerard Argent. A hefty sum was being offered for participants, so he would have been a fool to pass the opportunity by. Derek called the university to sign up almost immediately.

 

Derek had a routine. After the fire, his therapist told him it would help to be organized. Every morning, he woke up at nine and ate either toast or cereal at the breakfast bar, accompanied by a fruit of his choice and a glass of 2% milk. With Laura’s death, a Prozac pill had been added to his meal. After eating, Derek would brush his teeth and change into shorts and a t-shirt so that he could go for a run. He clipped a pedometer to his waistband and ran a circuit of five kilometers on average, weaving through the parks that dotted the city. At the end of his run, Derek would stop at the coffee shop next to his apartment building to purchase tea. He’d let the tea cool on the breakfast bar while he took a shower, then he’d drink it after he got dressed for the day. Sometimes he’d watch television while drinking his tea, and some days he’d read the newspaper or a chapter of a novel. After that, Derek painted.

He typically prepared his canvases by hand ahead of time so that he wouldn’t waste the day trying to make the perfect frame. He liked painting with oils and acrylics, blending rich greens and blues. Nature was Derek’s specialty, though Laura had posed for him as a portrait model before and it hadn’t turned out bad.

Derek sat cross-legged in front of his canvas now, dressed in an old pair of jeans and a soft t-shirt. Oil and paint had already been dabbed onto his pallet and a variety of different sized brushes lay at his disposal. He stared at the canvas and tried to visualize a mountain or a lake. Some artists liked to start with a colour and take off from there, but Derek preferred to have an image fixed in his mind first; neither method was necessarily correct, Derek just didn’t like to waste canvases if nothing came to him. He ended up sitting there for over an hour before pressure began to build behind his eyes in a growing headache. He stood with a sigh and walked over to the kitchen where he’d left the information sheet for the drug trial on the counter.

The information sheet told Derek that the drug was intended for patients who suffered symptoms of depression. In accordance with his instructions, Derek didn’t take his Prozac this morning and would remain off of his medication for the next month following his injection. The sheet also told Derek that he could expect side-effects such as headaches, dizziness, nausea, drowsiness, and dry-mouth. So basically, most of the side-effects Prozac listed already. If Derek vomited, fainted, or experienced fever or migraines, Gerard Argent’s number was given.

Derek sighed and resigned himself to read a book until it was time to make dinner. He clearly wasn’t going to get any painting done today.

 

By the next day, Derek’s headache hadn’t gotten any better. If anything, it had gotten worse. He groaned as Imagine Dragons played on his alarm clock, fumbling with the top of the machine until the music fell silent. While he couldn’t take any Prozac, the information certainly said nothing about pain medication, so Derek downed two tablets of Tylenol Extra Strength with his milk as he ate his breakfast of toast with peach jam. Today, he had a banana; potassium is good for the circulatory system.

When he was done eating, Derek put his dishes in the dishwasher and changed into his running clothes, hoping some fresh air would help clear his head. He ran through Central Park, cutting through the natural woods along trodden dirt paths. Though there was no escaping the exhaust fumes of the city entirely, the smell of wet leaves and growing life helped to combat the pungent scents of urban overpopulation that built up the pressure in Derek’s skull. He liked the feeling of compact dirt beneath his running shoes. It reminded him of his old home in Beacon Hills.

Derek felt moderately better after his run, so he greeted the cashier with a half-smile when he went to the coffee shop next to his apartment to order ginger tea. Cora was an environmentalist and she was big on embracing natural medicines; Derek remembered her telling him once that the perennial extracts in ginger tea are good for alleviating pain and inflammation. It was her fault that all of Derek’s soaps, shampoos, and deodorants were natural. Derek thought she’d probably kill him if he told her about the drug trial.

After showering, Derek exited his bathroom smelling of sea salt and jasmine. His body felt overheated, microscopic beads of sweat prickling at his pores on his back and under his arms and behind his knees. He pulled on a pair of boxer briefs and took his tea onto the small, cramped balcony outside the floor-to-ceiling windows that stretched across the wall of his living room. The windows were three meters wide altogether, facing east so that Derek could watch the sun rise if he woke early enough. There were a few plants on his balcony: a potted fern (given to him by Laura), a lavender plant in a box that hung over the railing (given to him by Cora), and an aloe vera plant in a small pot next to the fern (purchased by Derek). The balcony was just over one meter wide and two meters in length, with a metal grating floor and a plain, iron railing. The fire escape was just slightly below and to the left of the balcony, close enough that Derek could easily jump if there was ever an emergency that required him to do so.

Derek sat in the small, plastic lawn chair Laura had picked up for him at a garage sale and set his cup of tea down on the wooden end table on his right. A lot of the furniture in Derek’s apartment was like that: mismatched. He could have lived very comfortably without any income for years with his share of the insurance money. It certainly would have caused him no economic strain to buy all matching furniture brand new; but Derek and his sisters tried not to dip into their funds unless they absolutely had to. It was blood money.

The breeze felt good on his warm skin, cooling the damp hair close to his scalp. The ginger tea was sharp on his tongue as he took a sip, flavour bursting on his taste buds. The fresh air did indeed do some good for his headache. It was like someone had turned the dial on a volume knob, bringing the pounding in his skull down to a dull throb. It was uncomfortable, but manageable. It wasn’t enough to halt all thought.

Beneath the balcony, the city life had come into full swing; vehicles bustled down the streets, coughing out thick, noxious fumes of burnt gasoline; pedestrians dotted the sidewalks with chewed gum and small-talk. Derek watched them, absently, and wondered what filled their heads.

“Good morning, Derek,” called a cheery voice. Derek’s neighbour, a woman in her thirties named Charlene, was out on her balcony.

Derek raised a hand in greeting, but didn’t smile. “Hello, Charlie.”

“Enjoying the view?” she asked, then wiggled her eyebrows lecherously. “Because I sure am.”

Derek looked down at himself, remembering his state of undress. He had never been exactly self-conscious—he worked out three days a week and kept his body in excellent physical form—but the comment made him uncomfortable. “Good talk, Charlene.” He stood with the dregs of his tea and retreated to his apartment as Charlene laughed behind him. Derek was feeling strangely tired. He hadn’t really exerted himself on his run today, but the exhaustion clung to him like cobwebs. Perhaps a nap wouldn’t hurt.

 

Derek slept for twenty hours. A whole day: wasted. He blinked blearily at his alarm clock before the shock set in. He was ravenous. He made pancakes and threw in some sliced banana, and in a separate pan he cooked some low-fat bacon. He ate four pancakes, half a pound of bacon, and an orange. Derek’s headache was stronger than ever. By the time Derek was finished his run, he was squinting against the light, a full-blown migraine searing through his brain. He muddled through his shower and barely spared a moment to tug on a pair of boxers before he fell into bed, still wet, and pulled the covers over his head with a groan. Yesterday was Wednesday; he was supposed to call Cora last night. He’d have to call her today. She was going to be pissed.

Even the darkness and silence did little to assuage the pain in Derek’s head, and he curled into himself. Quite suddenly, the pain began to spike like hot knives were being driven through his skull, and Derek cried out, twisting in the sheets. Sweat clung to his body and nausea crawled up his throat from his stomach. He felt very dizzy and as Derek’s vision whited out, he became sure that he was about to vomit. Then the pain intensified and he was gasping. Derek opened his mouth to scream.

There was no other word Derek could use to describe what he felt in that moment but a _shift._ He felt it bone deep. It wasn’t exactly a wrongness, but it was different in some ineffable way. It was like for a brief moment gravity reversed, tugging Derek in a new direction before it readjusted to an epicenter just slightly off from where it was before. Derek pulled in a breath and the world didn’t smell right. His bed didn’t smell like his own. Derek’s stomach lurched.

He lunged for the side of the bed and leaned over it before he retched, eyes filling with tears out of reflex. Open-eyed, Derek looked around him; he wasn’t in his bedroom.

 _Where am I?_ he thought. His limbs shook, but the nausea had passed. Derek climbed out of the unfamiliar bed, avoiding the puddle of sick on the hardwood floor. He needed to clean it up before it stained. Derek stumbled out of the bedroom and found himself in a short hallway. There was a staircase at the end of the hall that led down to a lower floor. Derek descended the stairs, holding the railing in a tight grip, and the stairs opened into a hall with an open living room with an archway separating it from a modern kitchen with linoleum flooring. Derek hurried to the kitchen and found paper towels and antibacterial spray beneath the sink. He brought them upstairs and dragged over the bedroom trash can as he cleaned his mess.

When Derek was done, he finally stood and took in his surroundings. The bed had a rich green comforter and cream-coloured sheets. On the end table was a simple alarm clock not so different from Derek’s own and an ornate lamp. There was also a framed photograph that Derek picked up, and then promptly dropped on the floor, glass cracking as he drew a hand up to cover his mouth, fearing he might be sick again.

The picture looked recent. In it, Derek was wearing glasses and he had his arms around the shoulders of the two people standing on either side of him: Michael and Laura. Michael’s own arms were around Derek and Cora on his other side. They were standing in front of their family home, which stood tall and whole behind them. Derek picked up the frame again and drew trembling fingertips over Michael’s face. The last time he saw his little brother, he was fifteen years old and sitting in the living room with their little cousins crawling all over him. Derek asked him if he wanted to come to the grocery store with him and their sisters to escape the children.

“Nah, man. It’s too late for me. Run for your lives! Save yourselves!” Michael had joked, grinning widely with his bright green eyes. The irony that those had been his brother’s last words to him was never lost on Derek.

In the photograph, Michael was a young man now. The jet black waves of his hair were finally tamed and he stood nearly as tall as Derek. He was clean shaven, but he still almost looked like he could be Derek’s twin. His smile was just as brilliant as Derek remembered. He would have been twenty-three this year. Michael and Cora had been almost inseparable as children, constantly getting into trouble together. They were always trailing after Derek and Laura like a pair of ducklings. Derek was closest to Laura, but Michael had been a close second when they were teenagers.

Derek took a deep breath and returned the frame to the nightstand before he approached the dresser, where there were more photographs. There was a family photo with Derek, his siblings, his parents, his uncle Peter and aunt Grace and their two children, Liam and Malia. Malia would be twenty-one now and Liam would be nineteen. Malia and Cora were as thick as thieves when they were kids, always teaming up on Liam and a reluctant Michael. Aunt Nina and Uncle Don were with their three children; Philip, now sixteen; Astrid, now fourteen; and Olivia, now thirteen. The three youngest were standing together in front of their parents in the photograph. Peter’s family was merged with Derek’s as Cora and Malia had their arms around each other’s shoulders. Liam was flashing a cocky peace-sign with his left hand and Michael stood next to a bespectacled Derek and Laura, who was wrapped around a man Derek didn’t recognize.

Derek frowned until his eyes fell upon a second photograph. It was clearly a wedding photo, of Laura and the strange man. Laura was wearing a beautiful white gown and a bouquet of daisies was clutched in her hands. She was facing the camera, but her groom was smiling at her like she hung the moon. The bridal party consisted of Malia, Astrid, Olivia, and a few other women Derek didn’t know, but Cora was the maid of honour. Derek and Michael were among the groomsmen. From the looks of it, the wedding took place at the lake in the preserve by the Hale family house. Next to Laura, their parents were absolutely beaming and a woman who must have been the groom’s mother stood next to him with a smile as well.

The pictures elicited conflicting emotions in Derek. On the one hand, he felt a fierce longing for the life depicted before him. But there was also rage and pain of a magnitude he hadn’t felt in eight years. Where had these pictures come from? Was this some kind of joke? How _dare_ someone dangle this in front of him? Derek barely restrained the urge to smash the frames. 

He pulled himself away and went out into the hall. There was a picture of his parents, Talia and Fergus Hale, and pictures of him with his siblings when they were kids. Fear began to trickle down his spine like Laura was dropping an ice cube down the back of his shirt again. _How did they get these pictures?_ Derek went downstairs to the living room. Again, among the decorative paintings—none of which were Derek’s work—were photographs of Derek’s family; some he remembered from his childhood and some that seemed impossibly to take place after the gas leak explosion. A thought struck Derek and he went to the kitchen to search the counter for recent mail. He needed to find out whose house he was in.

Though the kitchen was different from the one in Derek’s apartment, the layout was eerily the same. All of the drawers were organized the same way Derek would have done himself. There were a few fliers on the counter and Derek sorted through them until he found an envelope that appeared to be a bank statement.  His suspicions (and fears) were confirmed as Derek read the name of the letter’s intended recipient.

_Mr. Derek C Hale._

Derek took slow deep breaths. He needed to stay calm. His mind was whirring with too many thoughts and he felt suddenly very naked in only his boxer briefs, but he knew with sickening dread that all of the clothes in the master bedroom would fit him perfectly, and that terrified him even more. The mail slipped through Derek’s fingers and he backed away from the counter before curling his hands into fists, nostrils flaring. He wanted to sink to the floor and hug himself, but he couldn’t let himself break. He closed his eyes and concentrated—inhale, exhale… inhale, exhale—until the furious buzzing in his mind eased to a distant hum, like white noise in the background. If this was a game, Derek had to learn the rules.

When he finally gathered himself, Derek went back upstairs and forced himself to dress in jeans and a dark Henley. Despite his anxiety, the extra covering on his body made him feel marginally better. Next, Derek found ‘his’ laptop and booted it up. The home screen prompted him for a password. Derek’s first two guesses were incorrect, but the third time was the charm and the screen changed to a desktop with some nature photo as his wallpaper. A half-hour’s perusal of the files on the computer showed that Derek was apparently a history TA at UC Berkeley. He had classes for seminars on Wednesdays and Fridays at eleven in the morning.  His office hours were on Tuesdays from one in the afternoon to four. He also found out that the man Laura was married to was named Jordan Parrish, and that Michael had recently gone on a few dates with a friend of Malia’s, a girl named Kira Yukimura.

Derek glared at the laptop. None of this could be true. They were all dead. He and Cora were the only ones left. He slammed the lid down derisively and stood up, pacing with discontent.

He was shaken out of his reverie when the telephone began ringing. There was a phone base and receiver attached to the wall of the upstairs hallway, and Derek’s hand hovered over it with uncertainty as its digital ring sounded. Downstairs, he could hear the matching ring of an old-fashioned telephone in the kitchen. Derek lifted the receiver from its cradle and pressed the button to answer the call, holding the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” he said uncertainly.

“Derek!”

The voice hit him like a punch in the stomach and his legs nearly gave out beneath him, forcing Derek to stagger into the wall. His own voice was barely steady as he said, “Mom?”

“Of course! Who else would it be? Are you seeing someone?” said Talia Hale in her rich, feminine tones.

Derek swallowed. “No. I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Still set on being a bachelor? Ah well.” Talia sounded amused rather than concerned. “Malia and Liam are coming down to Beacon Hills tomorrow; I was going to have them over for supper. Malia’s bringing that new boy of hers—Devin, I think it was? And I couldn’t get a hold of Laura, but I managed to convince Michael to come visit as well. I asked if he wanted to bring that girl he’s been seeing—what’s her name again?”

“Kira?” Derek ventured

“That’s the one! Anyway, Michael said it’s too soon and he doesn’t want to ‘ _overwhelm her_ ,’ whatever that means.”

He choked a laugh. “Well you _can_ come on a little strong.”

Talia scoffed. “Well at least I have a backbone.”

“You wouldn’t be Mom if you didn’t.”

“So do you think you can make it for dinner as well?”

Tears welled in Derek’s eyes and he forced a smile even knowing she couldn’t see it. “Sure, Mom. I’d love to.”

“Wonderful! And of course you’ll be staying over; there’s no way I’m going to let you drive three hours in the dark. I know Michael is really looking forward to seeing you again. He never says it, but I can tell he misses you.”

Derek covered his mouth with his free hand to smother the whimper in his throat, and the tears slipped down his cheeks as he blinked. _Breathe._ He removed his hand. “I miss him too.”

“Derek, that sounded almost _heartfelt!_ Have you been taking acting lessons?” Talia teased.

“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” Derek said.

“Spoilsport. Anyway, I’ll tell your dad that we’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Okay.”

“Bye, Derek.”

Panic welled in Derek’s chest and he cried, “ _Wait!_ ”

“What is it, hon?” Talia asked worriedly.

Derek closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I love you, Mom.”

He heard Talia make that soft, fond chuckle she did when she was feeling especially affectionate. “I love you too, Derek.”

Derek whispered, “Bye,” and his mother hung up. Derek stood there with the receiver for a long minute before he ended the call and placed it back in its cradle. Then Derek went downstairs slowly and deliberately to find a clump of post-it notes in the kitchen junk drawer. With a pen, he scrawled, ‘ _DINNER WITH FAMILY!_ ’ and he stuck it to the refrigerator so that he would remember. Finally, Derek returned to ‘his’ room, kicked off his clothes, and crawled into bed in his boxers, pulling the covers over his head. He was done. Just done. His heart was in his stomach and its thudding made him ill. He just wanted to disappear. This was all a nightmare.

At some point Derek dozed off and fell asleep, and the next thing he was aware of, he was jolting awake in bed—in his _own_ bed. He panted, clutching sweat-dampened sheets to his bare chest, and cars honked their horns while their engines rumbled in the streets of Manhattan below.

 

The phone rang twice before there was a distinctive click and Cora was demanding, “Where were you yesterday?”

“I’m sorry,” Derek said. His voice was thick with sleep. That was all he’d wanted to do since he first woke up. He was inexplicably exhausted. “I wasn’t feeling well yesterday so I decided to take a nap; ended up sleeping for twenty hours.”

“Are you sick?”

“I think so. My head was killing me and I thought I was going to be sick earlier today; I’m better now though. Still tired.”

“Are you burning up?”

“I was, but not anymore.”

“Good.” Cora sounded relieved. “Get any painting done this week?”

“A little. I don’t know if I’ll be able to make any money off of it though,” Derek replied. If he was a little vague about it, well, he often was these days.

“If you’re still feeling like shit tomorrow, see the doctor, okay? Don’t be a martyr. It doesn’t do anyone any good,” Cora said.

“I will,” Derek promised. “How’s Colombia?”

Cora immediately launched into a longwinded description of the Bora people and their culture. She told Derek about their animist beliefs and how they had been teaching her about different plants and their uses. She remarked that she thought one of the elders might be trying to set her up with his son, and Derek let her stories wash over him, erasing the thoughts of a family long lost to them.

 

After getting off the phone with Cora, Derek made himself a large salad with leftover chicken before he went back to bed. He slept until his alarm woke him the next day. He still felt a little drowsy, but not nearly to the degree that he had felt yesterday. He ate his usual breakfast and went on a shorter run than usual, and today he ordered coffee instead of tea when he went to the shop by his apartment. After Derek showered and got dressed, he picked up his phone and frowned contemplatively at it before he finally retrieved the information sheet from the kitchen and dialed Gerard Argent’s office number.

“Hello? This is Dr. Gerard Argent speaking.”

“Dr. Argent? My name is Derek Hale. We met a few days ago for your drug trial?” Derek said tentatively.

Argent’s voice sparked with recognition. “Ah, Mr. Hale. What can I do for you today? Did you have further questions about the trial?”

“Yes, actually,” Derek said. “At first I was just getting headaches, but yesterday they were full-blown migraines. I even passed out, and I slept a lot before and after.”

“You passed out?” Argent sounded more interested than concerned.

“Yes,” said Derek. “And I had these really vivid dreams.”

“Really now? Tell me about these dreams.” Too interested for comfort.

“I don’t know,” Derek said noncommittally. “They were just weird. I’ve had lucid dreams before.”

“Hmm. Well come by my office this afternoon anyway,” said Argent. “I want to make sure you aren’t having too many adverse effects from the serum.”

“Sure,” said Derek. There was no way out of it. “What time should I come by?”

“I finish my lunch break at 1:30 and then I have office hours until four.”

“I’ll see you around then,” said Derek.

“I’ll be expecting you.” Argent hung up. Derek huffed with exasperation and decided to stare at a canvas for a while.

 

When Derek arrived at Dr. Argent’s office later that afternoon, he was immediately directed to sit on the padded bench and the old man began to ask questions as he checked Derek’s blood pressure and recorded it on a sheet on his clipboard.

“So when did the headaches start?”

“The day after I got my injection,” Derek said. “It wasn’t bad; just distracting. It gradually worsened along with the lethargy.”

Argent shone a penlight into each of Derek’s eyes to check his pupil dilation. “Any other symptoms?”

“Just the increased appetite and the sleeping.” Remembering at the last minute, Derek said, “Oh yeah, and I also felt overheated. At first I thought it was just the exertion of my morning run and the hot water from my shower, but then my body just didn’t cool down. And right before I passed out, I felt sick; but that may have just been from the pain. I’ve never had a migraine that bad before.”

“So you have experience with migraines then?” Argent asked.

“Only very limited,” Derek replied. “My sister used to be prone to them, but I’ve just had a couple.”

“Have you ever had mono?”

Argent was pushing a thermometer into Derek’s mouth, so he had to tongue the plastic-covered bulb into his cheek to answer. “No.”

Argent made a noise of puzzlement. It wasn’t very convincing. He removed the thermometer from Derek’s mouth and squinted at it before recording his temperature. “So what do you remember from these dreams of yours?”

“Not so much anymore,” Derek lied.

“But you _do_ remember some of them?”

Derek met his gaze evenly. “Yeah.”

“And?”

“That’s kind of personal.” Derek gave him a sardonic smile. “I wasn’t aware I was supposed to be keeping a dream journal for this trial.”

Argent faked a laugh and the grin on his face looked more like he was baring his teeth. “No, of course not. But it’s important for me to know if you had any night terrors.”

Derek deadpanned, “I had sex with my ex-girlfriend. It was surprisingly realistic: nocturnal emissions and everything. I didn’t think you’d want to know that.”

“I suppose I asked for it,” Argent said with a grimace.

“So that’s it?” asked Derek.

“Do you have any lingering symptoms?”

“No.”

“Your vitals check out, so you’re free to go.” Argent removed his latex gloves and tossed them into the trash can by his desk. “Let me know if anything else comes up, okay?”

“You got it.” Derek stood up.

Without warning, the door opened and a blonde woman who appeared to be in her late thirties entered the office, saying, “Hey, Dad. I thought you were going to be early today—Oh.” Her eyes landed on Derek and he froze in place. “I didn’t realize you had someone in here.”

“That’s why you’re supposed to knock.” Argent sighed, giving Derek an apologetic look. “Mr. Hale, this is my daughter, Kate.” Turning to Kate, he said, “Mr. Hale just had some concerns, so I checked him over. It looks like there was nothing to worry about.”

Kate raised an eyebrow and gave Derek a sly smile, walking over with an outstretched hand. “Congratulations on the clean bill of health, Mr. Hale.”

“It’s Derek,” he said, shaking her hand politely. “Anyway, I should let you two go; you must have plans. Thanks for seeing me, Dr. Argent.”

“Don’t hesitate to call if anything else crops up,” Argent said.

Derek gave Kate a tight smile. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Kate’s grin widened. “Oh, believe me: the pleasure was all mine.”

Derek slipped out of Argent’s office and left the university as fast as he could.

 

The next several days went by without incident and Derek figured it had just been an initial reaction to the drug. But on Friday, the headaches, drowsiness, and hunger returned. He dealt with the symptoms as best as he could, but he didn’t want to call Dr. Argent again. The questions were too invasive and the man’s complete lack of apparent empathy was off-setting to Derek. It gave him a crawling sensation beneath his skin.

Unlike before, this time, the symptoms didn’t progress gradually. On Saturday, the crippling migraines were back and Derek slept through his alarm. By the time he woke up, it was nearly noon, so he forewent his run. Showering and taking pain medication didn’t help either. Derek was on his way to his bedroom, planning to retreat under his covers in search of darkness, when he stumbled to a stop, suddenly overtaken by a sense of vertigo. He pressed a hand to his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut as his vision blotted out, and then his stomach twisted and he lost his balance. Derek fell to his hands and knees, eyes opening instinctively, and he found hardwood floors beneath him. Frowning, Derek looked up and found himself in the same house he’d seen in his lucid dream. His headache was gone, and when Derek checked his cellphone, he saw that it was reconnecting to its server.

Derek pocketed his phone and made a quick tour around the house to confirm that it was the same one from his dream. Everything looked the same, but there was new mail on the kitchen counter and the note Derek had left on the fridge was gone. Setting his jaw determinedly, Derek took a letter from the pile of mail and went to the master bedroom upstairs, booting up the laptop and logging in. As soon as the desktop had loaded, Derek opened a web browser and used Google Maps for directions to the university campus from the address on his mail. The university was several blocks away; far enough that Derek was tempted to drive, but since he had skipped his run this morning, he figured a walk was better.

He shut down the laptop and put it away before he went downstairs. There was no question of whether or not the shoes at the front door would fit him, so Derek slipped a pair of them on and took a ring of keys from the hooks mounted on the wall next to him. He opened the front door and tested three keys before he found the correct one, steel with chipped gold paint. He closed and locked the door behind him and, remembering the set of directions, began to walk.

In New York, the May weather was mild and Derek was comfortable in a thin Henley. But here in California, Derek quickly grew warm. The first thing Derek noticed about Berkeley was the greenery and the air quality. Whereas most of New York City and Manhattan were a paved monstrosity, Berkeley was all green lawns and trees in between the buildings. The walk took half an hour and Derek cursed as he weaved through the students milling about, doubtlessly studying for final exams. He followed the throng of them to the library and slipped inside with a large group. There were a few computers to be used by the students as directories and Derek immediately bounded over to one and typed in the keyword, ‘ _dreams_ ’.

The browser practically exploded with results and Derek added on the word ‘ _lucid_ ’ to his enquiry, helping to narrow down the results a little. Derek took note of a few promising publishings and memorized their locations. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the library wasn’t too disorganized, and he found the articles he was looking for with little difficulty. There were a number of areas dotted with tables and plush chairs for the students and staff, and Derek found a table in a secluded corner on the second floor where he brought his books and settled in.

One of the books Derek had found was more like a how-to guide on lucid dreaming, so he skimmed over that chapter fairly quickly. The second book he flipped through, however, detailed the brain mechanics of lucid dreams and he soon found himself engrossed in the article, drinking in its every word. So enraptured, Derek didn’t even notice the approaching figure until a cup of coffee was placed in front of him. He blinked in surprise, finding his eyes sore with strain— _God, just how long had he been here for?_ —and he glanced up to see a young man with pale skin speckled with moles and the most beautiful mouth Derek had ever seen. The man brought his lower lip between his teeth and stared unabashedly at Derek with rich brown doe eyes.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked with a surprisingly deep voice.

Derek gestured at the chair in front of him. “You brought me coffee; you can sit anywhere you want.”

The man smiled like an ecstatic middle-schooler and set his own books and coffee down on the table in front of Derek before he slipped into the seat and ran a hand through his wild, dark hair. “Working on a thesis?”

“Personal research,” said Derek. “And you?”

“Personal research as well.” The corner of the man’s mouth twitched and he slid his hand across the table. “Stiles Stilinski.”

“Derek Hale.” Derek gave the young man’s hand a firm squeeze. “I’m assuming ‘Stiles’ is a nickname?”

“You bet,” said Stiles. “My given name is a real mouthful; traditional Polish. I almost enjoy getting IDed just so I can watch people herniate as they try to figure out how to say it.”

The corner of Derek’s mouth lifted with amusement and he took off the lid of his coffee to sniff at it. The steaming liquid was light brown with milk. “What’s in this?”

“Two sugars and two milks,” Stiles said. “Is that okay? I figured it seemed generic.”

“Oh, so you think I’m generic?”

Stiles grinned. “No. I just didn’t want to serve it to you black and then have you bitch at me for giving you coffee that tastes like ass.”

Derek smirked and blew on his coffee before taking a small sip. “Well luckily for you, I’m more of a tea drinker; so I prefer my coffee generic on the rare occasion that I do have it.”

“I’ll remember that for next time,” said Stiles.

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Planning on buying me many drinks in the future?”

“Are you kidding me? I’m already planning our _wedding_. Tell me: how do you feel about a honeymoon in Madagascar?”

“Too remote.” Derek replaced the lid on his coffee to keep it warm. “So are you really here to do research or was this all just an excuse to hit on me?”

Stiles briefly flailed his arms before he grabbed a book from his stack and flipped it open. “I can multitask!”

Derek sighed and looked down at his book pointedly. “What I mean to say is that _I’m_ trying to do research.”

“Oh. Sorry!” Stiles flushed with embarrassment and ducked his head to focus on his book.

Derek returned his attention to the book in his own hands, skimming the page to find where he left off.

‘ _Moreover, in lucid dreaming, EEG coherence is also largest in frontolateral and frontal areas (for all frequency bands, 1–45 Hz). Another recent study, which has used_ _fMRI_ _to study cerebral regional activation in lucid dreams, replicated these findings and showed that, in lucid dreams, not only prefrontal but also occipito-temporal cortices, bilateral precuneus, cuneus and parietal lobes exhibit higher activation compared to what occurs during non-lucid dreams (Dresler et al., 2012). Based on this background, the hypothesis was formulated that activation of the frontolateral area of the brain during REM sleep should increase dream lucidity_.’

There was a soft, repetitive sound and Derek became aware of motion nearby. He glanced up from his reading to see Stiles bouncing his leg incessantly. Irritation prickled along Derek’s spine and he said, “Will you stop that?”

Stiles’ leg immediately stilled and he gave Derek a look of protest. “I can’t help it!”

“It’s distracting.”

“Why are you so interested in lucid dreaming anyway?” Stiles toyed with the lid of his coffee cup.

 _Because I’m in one._ Derek gestured at Stiles’ book. “Why are _you_ so interested in historical methods of forensic science?”

“Because I’m an author,” said Stiles, “and no self-respecting author goes into his work without doing a little research first.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “If you fidget this much all the time, it’s a wonder you get anything done.”

Stiles pointed an accusing finger at Derek. “Hey, I’ll have you know that I am a fantastic researcher. Just… not when there are devastatingly attractive people around.”

Derek grimaced and felt his face heat with embarrassment. “You think I’m ‘ _devastatingly attractive_ ’?”

“Would you rather I used the term ‘ _hot like a burning?_ ’”

Derek squeezed his eyes shut with exasperation. “No, you’re right. That’s so much worse.”

Stiles chuckled, then cocked his head, watching Derek with wonder. “How come I’ve never seen you around before? Are you new in Berkeley?”

Derek bit his lip in consideration before he nodded his head slowly. “You could say that.”

“Tell you what…” Stiles dug into his messenger bag and took out a notebook and pen, tearing out a small strip of paper before writing down ten messy digits. He slid the paper over to Derek’s side of the table. His hands had long, spindly fingers. “Here’s my number, and sometime when neither of us are busy with our personal research, maybe you can give me a call or text me and I can show you around. Buy you that tea I promised.”

Derek scoffed, but he took the piece of paper and slipped it into his pocket. “I thought you were already planning our wedding?”

“Sure I am.” Stiles shrugged. “But a man’s got to woo a guy before he asks for his hand in marriage.”

Derek’s eyes narrowed but he couldn’t help but find the man a little charming, if in a somewhat annoying sense. “I’m not going to sleep with you just because you offered to do something nice and you think you’re cute.”

Stiles flushed, mouth opening and closing before he finally won the battle with his lips. “I’m not just doing this to get laid!”

“But getting laid is a part of it?”

“ _No!_ ” Other people were beginning to glance in their direction as Stiles lost control of the volume of his voice. “I mean, _yes_ , but that’s more of a long-term plan than anything else!” Stiles’ elbows thumped on the table and he clutched at his hair, his words coming slightly muffled. “I’m so fucking bad at this.” Stiles took a deep breath before he looked up at Derek again, red blotches discolouring his face, neck, and ears. “Okay. _Yes_ , I want to take you out on a date and get to know the man behind the devastatingly attractive face—and if that ends up leading to more dates and a relationship and, you know, eventual sex, then that would be awesome. But if we just hit it off as friends, I am totally down with that too. And if we don’t hit it off at all, well, some things just aren’t meant to be.”

“You talk a lot,” Derek informed him.

Stiles threw his hands up, breaking eye-contact. “I monologue at you and this is what you get from it.”

“No, it’s just… been a while,” said Derek.

“Since you’ve gotten laid?”

“Since I’ve done _anything_ with anyone.” Derek’s eyes fell to the side and his stomach turned as he thought of Laura. He sipped at the last of his coffee, hoping it would settle some of the emptiness he felt inside. It didn’t.

Stiles must have seen something, because his tone was softer when he next spoke. “I’m not trying to pressure you, okay? Look: whatever happens, happens! We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Hell, if you want, you can give me my number back and I’ll tear it up right here and you never have to see me again.”

“Okay.” Derek took the piece of paper from his pocket and he saw Stiles tense, biting his lower lip like he was already mentally flagellating himself. But instead of handing the paper to Stiles, he set it on the table in front of himself and fished out his phone from his pocket, adding Stiles to his contacts. Stiles gaped openly as Derek held his phone in front of Stiles’ face and asked, “Is this correct?”

“Uh-huh,” he replied dumbly, and Derek saved the number in his phone before standing up.

“I should get going. I’m distracting you and you’re actually doing research for work. But I’ll call.” Derek had no idea if he would call. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing. This was a _dream._ For all he knew, he would never see Berkeley again. Maybe that’s why he was making promises: it didn’t matter if the person you were breaking a promise to wasn’t real. Or maybe it was because Stiles wanted more than a fuck from Derek and was bold enough to approach him in the first place in spite of his own nerves; most of the people who approached Derek were self-assured in an obnoxious way that raised his hackles, like Derek’s face and body were an open invitation for sexual contact. Stiles’ bursts of anxious rambling and blunt honesty were refreshing, though Derek was reluctant to admit it even to himself.

Stiles’ face split into a wide open grin. “Great!” His eyes suddenly went wide at the realization of what he just said. “I mean, not that you’re leaving—that you’re going to call!”

“I got it.” Derek took his books and his empty coffee cup. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“Yeah, no problem! I’ll see you around then!”

Derek nodded, not quite managing to smile, and turned to leave. He tossed his coffee cup into a trash can and placed his books in the return bin by the front desk. When Derek emerged from the library, he saw that the sun was lower in the sky—not quite evening, but late in the afternoon. He retraced his steps from earlier and found his way back to the house with ease, passing a few other pedestrians on his way. He remembered which key had worked on the front door and sighed with relief when it opened for him. Derek stepped inside the house when he started to sway without warning, his head spinning. He managed to shut the door behind him, gasping for breath before he fell to his knees and his vision blacked out. When the darkness cleared, Derek was kneeling in the entryway of his apartment in Manhattan.

He took a deep breath and stood, feeling hungry and exhausted, and after a moment’s thought, he took his cellphone from his pocket and checked his contacts list. Sure enough, there was a new contact for Stiles Stilinski. Derek’s heart thudded in his chest and he pressed the call button before holding his phone to his ear. There was a single ring before an automated voice told him that this number was not in service. Derek sighed and ended the call, shaking his head at himself. He must have input the number while he was asleep.

But there was a tiny, niggling voice in the back of Derek’s head telling him that he couldn’t remember either falling asleep or waking up; only _jumping_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excerpt from: "Testing the involvement of the prefrontal cortex in lucid dreaming: A tDCS study" by Tadas Stumbrys, Daniel Erlacher, and Michael Schredl. Published December 2013 in Consciousness and Cognition, Vol 22, Issue 4.


	2. Through The Looking Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning for some ableist language in this chapter.

Derek didn’t call Dr. Argent this time. The man had unsettled him even more so than the lucid dreams, and after Derek had eaten and slept, he was feeling much better. He even had an idea of what he wanted to paint. Derek mulled over the image in his mind as he went for his run, and when he was finally stood in front of his canvas, he felt relaxed as he squeezed blue acrylic paint onto his pallet and mixed it with oils. Derek added more colours as he went, blending to create more complex shades, and the picture in his mind gradually materialized over the hours he spent working on it.

A pair of pale hands caught in cobwebs in the moonlight, with long fingers like spider legs.

Derek had met some artists who worked in a frenzy, approaching their mediums like they were starved and let their creativity gush like lifeblood from a punctured artery. It was different for Derek. On a regular basis, Derek felt a little like he was going mad. When he first started going to therapy after the gas leak explosion, Derek’s therapist told him he needed to find an outlet to release his grief in a healthy way. Art was one of her suggestions. Derek was no less passionate about his work than the artists whose works ignited them—of that there was no doubt—but painting, for him, was cathartic. It took the jumbled mess from his head and laid it out, vibrant layer by layer, leaving behind a deep sense of peace and calm. Derek didn’t need invigoration; he needed to be grounded.

He worked on the painting on Monday as well, and on Tuesday, Derek had his second check-up with Dr. Argent. This one was just routine; all of the participants of the clinical trial were going to be looked over to make sure the drug was responding appropriately with minimal side effects. Derek went to the university’s biology labs, where the experiment was initially run, and found the room with ease. A few other patients were already sitting in the lab, including a girl Derek remembered talking to while they waited after being dosed. She looked up as Derek took the seat next to her.

“Hey,” said the girl. She held out a hand. “Erica Reyes, remember?”

Derek took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Derek Hale, and I do remember you.”

Erica gave him a feeble smile. She looked younger than him, and she had blonde hair and dark eyes that were lined with Kohl. When they spoke before, she told him that she had Interictal Dysphoric Disorder and couldn’t take anything for her depression because it interfered with the medications she was taking for her epilepsy.

“Any luck with the painting?” asked Erica.

“I’m working on one right now,” Derek told her.

“That’s good! Think the medication helped with that?”

Derek shrugged. “I had a weird dream and I guess it inspired me.”

“Well here’s hoping you can make a buck.”

Derek gave her a small half-smile. “And how about you? Any trouble with your meds?”

“Nope!” Erica grinned. “No hospital trips yet.”

“Glad to hear it.” Derek nodded, then chewed on his lip for a moment, staring at his hands. Without looking at Erica, Derek asked her, “Have you been experiencing any side-effects?”

Erica laughed bitterly. “Honey, I experience a lot of side-effects from my anticonvulsants. You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

“Fevers? Migraines?” Derek hazarded. “Performing activities in your sleep?”

Erica stared hard at Derek, and when she spoke, her words came very slowly and deliberately. “Have these things been happening to you?”

Derek looked up, meeting Erica’s eyes. He opened his mouth to speak when Dr. Argent walked into the lab.

“Mr. Hale? You’re next,” he said.

Derek glanced between Erica and Argent before he gave the girl an apologetic grimace. He got to his feet and followed Argent out of the lab and into his office down the hall where the doctor began to check Derek’s vital signs. It felt like a repeat of his visit after the first dream.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Hale?” asked Argent as he wrapped the Velcro cuff of the sphygmomanometer around Derek’s bicep.

“Alright,” Derek replied. The cuff tightened around Derek’s arm and he watched the numbers on the digital screen dance.

“Any more dreams or migraines?”

“No.”

Argent squinted at the sphygmomanometer and recorded the numbers on his clipboard before he removed the cuff from Derek’s arm, mumbling, “Blood pressure’s good.” Then he asked, “How’s the appetite? Any fevers?”

“I’ve been eating just fine and I haven’t had any fevers since we last spoke,” Derek told him.

“Would you hold out your arm? I’m just going to take some blood samples for testing,” said Argent.

“Of course.” Derek held out his arm obediently and Argent tied a plastic band around Derek’s bicep. Argent took a syringe and two vials, then carefully prodded at the inside of Derek’s elbow with his fingertips to make sure he could see the vein clearly. Argent wiped an alcohol-soaked cotton ball over Derek’s inner elbow, and then Derek was looking away as Argent slipped the needle into his skin. Derek had never had a phobia of needles, but there was something particularly unsettling about watching it happen.  It made him feel vulnerable. Derek held still and read a poster about the warning signs of a stroke as Argent filled the vials. When it was done, Derek watched Argent extract the needle and held a dry cotton ball against his arm as the doctor put the capped vials of blood in a labelled container.

“Thank you, Mr. Hale,” said Dr. Argent. “You can go now.”

Derek frowned. “Wait. Aren’t you going to ask me about how I’m doing mentally? The drug is meant for depressed patients, isn’t it?”

“Of course.” Argent’s smile reminded Derek of a shark. “How has your motivation been?”

“A little better,” Derek said.

“And your emotional range?”

“Still fairly small. No extremes.”

“Have you had any suicidal thoughts or urges?”

“No.”

“Good. With luck, your emotional range will broaden, but for now we’ll just have to wait and see.” Argent stood and opened the door to his office. It was a very clear dismissal.

Derek drew his eyebrows together as he brushed past Argent and into the hall. He was about to head to the stairwell to exit the building when a thought suddenly occurred to him. On impulse, Derek went back to the lab and found Erica still waiting where he’d left her earlier. He snatched a scrap piece of paper from a lab table and a pen, scrawling down his cellphone number before handing it to Erica. Erica blinked with surprise as she took the paper from him.

“Call me sometime,” Derek said to her. “We can get coffee, talk… I’d like to know you’re doing okay.”

Erica’s smile was startled, but pleased. “Thanks. I’d like that.”

Derek nodded awkwardly and tried to keep his pace steady as he left the room with his heart pounding. He hadn’t attempted to pursue companionship with anyone since Laura died. He’d tell Cora about it tomorrow when he called. She’d be so proud.

 

Despite the dull thrum of a headache, Derek managed to finish his painting on Wednesday. He called Cora and put her on speakerphone while cooking dinner to tell her.

“That’s great!” Cora said. “Do you think you can actually sell it?”

“I don’t know,” Derek told her as he chopped peppers for his stir fry.

“Well it’s a start. Anything else this week?”

“I met a girl. We might go for coffee sometime.” Derek put the peppers in his wok with some vegetable oil and chopped onion. The water on the other burner was almost boiling, so he could put the egg noodles in shortly.

“You mean you actually pulled your head out of your ass long enough to ask someone on a date?”

Derek started chopping carrots with more vigor than necessary. “I didn’t say it was a date.”

“Then I hope she doesn’t get her hopes up. Don’t lead this girl on, Derek,” Cora warned him.

“I don’t intend to.” Derek stirred the noodles in the pot. “Tell me about Colombia.”

It was an obvious ploy on Derek’s part to get out of his sister’s scrutiny, but she didn’t call him out on it. Instead, she continued telling him about her time with the Bora people and how her research paper was progressing. When the stir fry was done, Derek told Cora he had to go.

“Alright,” she said. “And for the record, I really am glad that you talked to someone. I don’t like the idea of you being alone up there.”

“I still have you.”

Cora sighed. “Take it easy, big bro. But get some painting done.”

“I will,” Derek assured her. “Take care.”

Usually, Derek would stay up for several hours after dinner reading or watching Game of Thrones on his laptop, but as he washed his dishes he could barely keep his eyes open. Once Derek had placed everything in the drying rack, he went about his apartment to turn off the lights before trudging to his bedroom, stripping down to his boxers. He fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

In the morning, Derek found his headache worse, leaving him groaning in bed. He ate a large breakfast, showered, and took some painkillers, then retrieved his cellphone to check for messages. He sat on his bed and was just about to turn his phone on when his head spun and he tumbled to the floor in a heap. Derek blinked rapidly to clear his vision and found himself in his dream house again. He was in the kitchen this time, clad in only his boxers, so he got to his feet and headed up to the master bedroom to put some clothes on. He decided on a pair of jeans and a soft, blue t-shirt. He sighed as he resigned himself to sleeping the day away when he remembered his cellphone. He picked it up from where he left it on the bed and found his most recent contact: Stiles Stilinski. With nothing better to do, Derek pressed the call button and placed his phone to his ear. The phone rang thrice before someone picked up.

“Hello?” said a familiar voice. “Who is this?”

“Hi. It’s Derek. I said I’d call.”

“Derek!” Stiles sounded surprised and delighted. “I didn’t think you actually would.”

Derek frowned. “If I told you I was going to call you, then why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, I just—it—never mind. What’s up?”

“I’ve got the day off, so I figured if you’re not busy I could take you up on your offer,” said Derek.

Stiles’ voice came out low and suggestive. “Which one?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a smartass.”

“You’d have better luck telling me not to breathe,” said Stiles. “It’s a part of who I am.”

“That’s what lobotomies are for.”

Stiles choked out a shocked laugh. “Well what do you know? There _is_ a sense of humour in there! Where would you like to meet?”

They ended up agreeing on a coffee shop near campus. Derek found ‘his’ wallet on the dresser and slipped it into the back pocket of his jeans. The walk there was relaxing and Derek felt himself settling under the warmth of the late spring sun. He’d never realized just how much he missed California. When Derek entered the café, he glanced around in search of Stiles. His eyes soon fell on the young man, sitting at a table by the window with one mug in front of himself and a second one across the small table from him. Stiles caught sight of Derek and waved enthusiastically, a wide grin on his face. Derek raised his eyebrows and walked over, taking a seat.

“You ordered for me?” said Derek.

Stiles shrugged. “I thought it’d be more fun this way.”

“What if I don’t like it?”

“Well you have to try it first.”

Derek shook his head in vague amusement and lifted the mug to his lips, blowing on it gently before he took a small sip. The flavour of strong spices burst on Derek’s tongue, making him hum with surprise. “Chai?”

“Yeah!” Stiles gestured at the mug. “I thought that would be okay. Uh, is it?”

Derek gave him a tiny smile. “I like it.”

A brilliant smile spread across Stiles’ face. “Great! So tell me about yourself. Who is this man behind the devastatingly attractive mask?”

Derek leaned back comfortably in his seat. “What do you want to know?”

“Where are you from?” Stiles asked.

“I was born in Beacon Hills, but I was living in New York for a while,” Derek told him. “Now I’m in Berkeley working as a TA, apparently.”

“No way! I’m from Redding. What subject are you teaching? Wait, let me guess: psychology.”

“Not even close. History.”

Stiles frowned. “Then why were you reading all about lucid dreaming?”

“I’ve been having a lot of lucid dreams lately.” Derek resisted the urge to tell Stiles that he was in one right now.

Stiles leaned forward with interest. “What do you think is causing them?”

“It’s probably this new medication I’m on,” Derek admitted. “It’s just a clinical trial.”

“So you volunteered to be their guinea pig?”

“I needed the money and I had nothing to lose.”

“Nothing to—” Stiles cut himself off, frowning. “What was the medication for?”

Derek hunched his shoulders over a little. In his mind, he pictured a wolf raising its hackles. “Not that it’s any of your business, but it’s depression medication.”

“That’s cool.” Stiles said, “I’m on medication too. Adderall.”

“That explains a few things.” Derek looked pointedly at Stiles’ fidgeting hands.

Stiles huffed a laugh. “Well it’s not a perfect solution, as you can see. But this is a million times better than I’d be without it.”

“I shudder at the thought,” said Derek.

“Ass.” Stiles flicked a sugar packet at him and Derek caught it before tearing it open and pouring its contents into his mug. Then Derek plucked a stir straw from a jar of them on the table, mixing the sugar in before he set it aside and took another sip. “So what made you decide to come back to California?” Stiles asked.

Derek’s eyes fell to the table and his thumb tapped against the side of his mug. “I have family here. I was alone in New York.”

“What were you doing in New York then?” Stiles asked.

“Art.”

Stiles stared at him, unimpressed. “That is the most cliché thing I have ever heard in my life.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“So what’s your family like?”

“ _Big_.” Derek laughed sadly. “I’m the second of four kids; two sisters and a brother. Five cousins; all younger than me. My parents and their siblings still live in Beacon Hills. Two of my cousins are in college and the other three are high schoolers.”

Stiles stared at him wistfully. “Wow… It’s just, ah, it’s just me and my dad. Neither of my parents had siblings. I had my best friend though, growing up. His name is Scott. He’s as close to a brother as I’ve ever had.” Stiles proceeded to tell Derek stories about the antics he got up to with his friend Scott throughout their childhood and his police chief father’s responses. Derek even found himself smiling with amusement from time to time as Stiles painted a picture of his life with his words.

When Derek finished his tea and Stiles finished his coffee, Derek asked him, “Do you want to get out of here and go somewhere?”

Stiles sat up taller, looking pleased. “Like where?”

“I don’t know.” Derek smirked. “You’re the one who promised to show me around Berkeley.”

Stiles nodded to himself. “I can work with that.” They exited the coffee shop and Stiles led Derek down the street.

“So how long have you been out of college?” Derek asked.

“A few months,” Stiles said. “I took some summer courses so I had enough credits to graduate last semester.”

“My sister, Cora, is your age. She’s been out of college for a year though; she skipped a grade when she was a kid.” Pride welled in Derek’s chest at the thought of his sister. “What did you take?”

“I majored in English literature and took a minor in criminology.” Stiles grinned. “Everyone always expected me to go to law school because I’m always arguing with people.”

“Any particular reason you didn’t?”

There was a mischievous twinkle in Stiles’ eyes. “Because that’s what everyone expected me to do. I never wanted to fit into a mold, you know?”

“So you decided to write?”

“I decided to write.” Stiles smiled and Derek just watched him for a while. Looking at Stiles, Derek thought, was a little like staring into the sun. He was bright and full of life, a wellspring of blooming potential. He was beautiful.

They walked for several minutes until Stiles stood in front of an immense, grey building and spread out his arms theatrically. On the grass out front, there was a large, abstract sculpture and black letters on the side of the building’s wall proclaimed, ‘ _University of California Berkeley Art Museum and Pacific Film Archive_ ’. Derek gaped at the structure, then back at Stiles, whose grin widened encouragingly.

“You brought me to an art museum?” Derek said.

“ _You’re_ the failed artist from New York,” Stiles quipped. “I figured you could stand to see what real art looks like.”

Derek punched Stiles lightly in the ribs, making him devolve into snickering laughter. “I hate you so much. This is the worst date I’ve been on in my life.”

“I think you mean the _best_ date.” Stiles’ cheeks reddened and he grabbed Derek’s hand, tugging gently. “Come on. Let’s get your oh, so professional opinion here.” Inside the building, Stiles pulled Derek along to the front desk where he paid for their admittance, pulling out his wallet and handing a crisp twenty dollar bill to the man sitting there before Derek could protest. Stiles took a program guide and a map of the museum, walking off to the side of the front desk where he was out of the way. Derek peeked over Stiles’ shoulder to read the names of the exhibits.

“Anything you’re interested in?” Derek asked.

“I should be asking you,” said Stiles.

Derek shook his head, shrugging. “I’m okay with just wandering.”

“Good, because I don’t know any of these people.”

They made their way around the museum and every so often, Derek would stop Stiles and point out a painting, explaining brush stroke techniques and different types of paint that the artists used. Though Stiles clearly knew very little about art, he listened with rapt attention. Derek wasn’t sure if that was indicative of Stiles’ interest in him or the young man’s insatiable thirst for knowledge, but he suspected the latter. A few times, Derek noticed Stiles making faces at the works of art they passed. He reached out as if to touch one of the twisting sculptures on display, then withdrew his hand with narrowed eyes. Stiles finally snapped as they inspected a room full of abstract paintings.

“Okay, I may be uncultured, but I don’t get this shit.” Stiles gestured at a painting full of chunks and swirls of vibrant colour. “How is _this_ high class art? This is literally someone’s acid trip on a piece of canvas. Like, if this kind of thing can become successful, I’d hate to see what you’re doing.”

Derek rolled his eyes and dug his cellphone from his pocket, pulling up his photo album. “Abstract isn’t really my style.” Derek thrust his phone in Stiles’ face and the younger man took it, frowning. As Stiles thumbed through the album, his frustrated expression turned to one of awe and confusion.

“You see, this is why I never understood art,” Stiles said. “These are _amazing_. How are you not rolling in dough right now?”

“I’m not _that_ great,” Derek told him. “And art is a competitive business.”

Stiles flicked his eyebrows upward. “You can say that again.” He scrolled to the next painting and froze, looking puzzled. “Where is this? There’s something missing here.”

“Hmm?” Derek looked up at Stiles and leaned closer to see which photo he was looking at. “Oh. That’s Lower Manhattan, by the East River. I painted that a few years ago.”

Stiles blinked, meeting Derek’s eyes. “The World Trade Center. Where is the World Trade Center? The Twin Towers aren’t here.”

Derek’s brows drew together and he took a half-step back. “ _What?_ ”

Stiles waved a hand dismissively. “I mean, it’s a great painting, but B minus for inaccuracy.”

“ _Inaccurac—?_ ” Derek cut himself off. This was all just a dream; it didn’t matter—but something unsettled was unfurling in Derek’s gut. Stiles continued to look through Derek’s paintings, and when he reached the end of the album he returned the phone to Derek.

“These are all really good,” he said sincerely. A sly smile touched his lips and he raised an eyebrow at Derek. “You know what this means, right?”

Derek sighed with exasperation. “No, Stiles. I am _not_ going to draw you like one of my French girls.”

Stiles choked a laugh. “Okay, I’ll admit I was totally going to ask you to draw me; but what’s this I hear about French girls?”

Derek shook his head. “Never mind.”

“You’re weird,” said Stiles. “Kind of like a Martian.”

“ _Thanks._ Let’s keep going.”

Derek left the room of abstract paintings and Stiles called after him, “I didn’t say that was a _bad_ thing!” as he hurried to catch up. They walked around a few more galleries and Derek often caught Stiles looking at him fondly instead of the art. He felt his cheeks heat up and glanced away quickly. When their legs began to grow tired, they moved to the café. Derek insisted on buying their treats and Stiles moaned happily as he bit into his brownie. After he finished, Stiles perched his elbow on the tabletop and rested his chin in his hand as he watched Derek.

“You keep doing that,” Derek said.

“I had a lot of fun today.” Stiles’ eyes fell to the table shyly. “I’m glad you called.”

Derek smiled, small but genuine. “So am I.”

Stiles grinned. “Can I walk you home?”

“Sure, but who’s going to walk _you_ home?”

Stiles made a face. “I’m a strong, independent man, who don’t need no… man.”

Derek snorted. “ _Smooth_.”

“Shut up. We can’t all get by on our looks.”

Derek wrinkled his nose. “I do _not._ ”

The walk back to Derek’s house was mostly quiet, but halfway there, Stiles took hold of Derek’s hand and didn’t let go. Derek felt a little disappointed when the house came into sight, and soon enough they were walking up the path and standing on the porch face to face.

“I wanted to thank you for everything,” said Derek. “I haven’t had a day this good in _months._ ”

Stiles smiled. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” He shifted a little closer and squeezed Derek’s hand gently. “Hey, do you think I could see you again?”

Derek squeezed Stiles’ hand back. “I’d like that.”

Stiles beamed, eyes falling to Derek’s mouth. He rocked forward on the balls of his feet and Derek’s breath caught in his throat before Stiles stopped himself, rolling back on his heels. “Take care, Derek.” He released Derek’s hand and stepped away.

“Yeah,” Derek said breathlessly. “You too.”

Stiles waved amicably and descended the porch steps. Taking a deep breath, Derek turned to the door and fished his keys out of his pocket to unlock it. Back inside the house, Derek sighed, heart sinking. None of this was real. It was almost dinnertime, so Derek toed off his shoes and walked toward the kitchen. While he was still dreaming, he may as well play the part. He was just looking through the fridge when he was hit by a wave of vertigo. Derek squeezed his eyes shut, swaying on his feet, and when the dizziness passed he opened his eyes to find himself standing in the middle of his own kitchen, empty-handed. He scrubbed his eyes and stood up straight, walking over to the counter. He leaned his elbows on the surface and stared down at it gloomily when a brightly coloured post-it note caught his eye. Frowning, Derek picked up the piece of paper to read the message that was written in his own hand.

‘ _Leave me alone!_ ’

Derek swallowed hard. He couldn’t think of anything in his dream that would have warranted such a reaction, but there was no other explanation for it. Derek had to have written this in his sleep. No longer feeling like cooking, Derek ordered himself a pizza for dinner.

 

Derek spent half an hour sitting in front of his canvas until he decided that he just couldn’t paint today. His mind was a jumbled mess, thoughts tumbling like Alice down the rabbit hole. Derek felt very like Alice, lately. He wished he could take some medication to help him focus, like Stiles—but then Stiles was from his Wonderland too, and it was medication that got Derek into this mess in the first place. Nothing had been right since Derek was injected nearly three weeks ago. Longer than that; since Laura’s death.

Derek read somewhere once that there is no cold, only an absence of heat; no darkness, but an absence of light; no death, but an absence of life. Laura’s absence from Derek’s life took both heat and light from his world. With that final, stuttering beat of her heart, she tipped the Earth on its axis—only an infinitesimal amount that would go completely unnoticed by anyone who wasn’t looking for it. But Derek felt that polar shift, and now with these lucid dreams, Derek’s world was skewed a little more.

Craving thoughtlessness, Derek took his iPod, duffel bag, and membership and went to the gym. He barely had to wave his card at the woman sitting at the front desk before she waved him on; most of the employees knew Derek by name. He stopped in the locker room to change into running shoes, shorts, and a t-shirt, then tucked away his duffel and street clothes in his locker. Derek tucked the key in the pocket of his shorts and entered the main room. Along one wall was a line of treadmills and stair-climbers. Across from them was a line of exercise bikes. The other half of the room had weight training equipment; barbells, bench presses, leg presses. Derek put in his earbuds and started out with some stretches, then took a treadmill, beginning at a walk and progressing into an easy jog to get his blood flowing.

After twenty minutes, Derek moved on to the bench press, starting with fifty pounds and working his way up as one of the trainers at the gym spotted him. Derek made rounds with different pieces of equipment for nearly three hours before he moved back to the treadmill to wind down. His eyes were closed and Imagine Dragons was playing in his ears when he felt a hand tap his.

“Excuse me?” said a feminine voice.

Derek blinked open his eyes and took out an earbud, turning to face a familiar woman with dark blonde hair. He quickly turned to the machine to lower the setting to a walk before he said, “Hi. Need something?”

The woman smiled, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t remember me?”

“No, I do,” said Derek. “It’s Kate, right? You’re Dr. Argent’s daughter.”

“And you’re Derek.” She hopped onto the treadmill next to Derek and began walking at a leisurely pace. She was dressed in spandex capris and a pink sports bra. “Are you new here? I’ve never seen you around.”

“I’ve had a membership here for five years,” Derek said, frowning.

“That’s funny,” said Kate. “I definitely would have remembered a face like yours.”

Derek shrugged. “Different schedules.”

“Of course.” Kate rolled her eyes good naturedly. “Work always gets in the way of the fun things in life. What do you do?”

“I’m an artist,” Derek told her. “Typically I freelance it, but occasionally I’ll do paid commissions.”

“So work doesn’t get in your way at all, I bet.”

“Commissioned works have deadlines.”

“That’s true,” said Kate. “I work at a law firm as an attorney and run women’s self defense classes on Thursday nights.”

“Sounds busy.”

Kate barked a laugh and winked. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

Derek eyed her. “I bet.”

“So, not that it’s any of my business, but how do you know my father?” asked Kate.

“I’m his guinea pig,” Derek told her, remembering how Stiles put it.

“Oh yeah, he told me he got the approval for a clinical trial. How’s that going?”

Derek shrugged. “It’s alright.”

“That’s good! No gaining super powers overnight?” She gave him a teasing grin.

“Not unless you consider sleeping a super power.”

Kate laughed. “How do you mean?”

“My last medication gave me insomnia,” Derek explained. “Now it seems like my body can’t get enough of it.”

“That’s interesting.” There was a gleam in her eye.

Derek checked the time on his iPod and turned off the treadmill. “I should get going. I need to get groceries before I head home.”

“Of course,” said Kate. “Hey, do you think I could get your number? Maybe we can meet here again sometime. I sure wouldn’t mind spotting for you.” She winked.

“Sure.”

Kate reached into her sports bra and pulled out her cellphone, pausing to open up her contacts list before handing it to Derek. It was uncomfortably warm in his palm. He keyed in his name and cell number before giving the device back to Kate. She grinned triumphantly and tucked her phone away once more. “Great! I’ll see you around, Derek.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Take care.”

Feeling a little awkward, Derek went to the locker room and dug his towel and the baggie with his extra bars of shampoo and body wash out of his duffel. He stripped down and got into the shower, spending ten minutes on his hair and body, lathering away the scent of skin and sweat as steam rose around him. As he rinsed off, Derek turned down the temperature until the water was cold, closing back up his pores. Once he was dried and dressed, Derek left with his duffel, waving to the girl at the front desk before he exited and got into his Camaro in the parking lot. As he sat in the car, putting his keys in the ignition, he felt his cellphone vibrate in his pocket. There was a new text from an unknown number.

‘ _Hey hot stuff ;)_ ’                                                                                 

Snorting, Derek added the number to his contacts list and added the name Kate Argent. After replacing his cellphone in his pocket, Derek started the car and placed his hand on the gearshift to peel out of the parking lot.

That night, as Derek was lying in bed, he wondered why he never had lucid dreams when he went to sleep on his own terms. It was always when he blacked out. He closed his eyes and pictured Stiles’ laughing face. It all seemed so real; the touch of Stiles’ hand, the chai tea on his lips, the faint ache in his legs as they walked around the art museum. He thought of the life his unconscious mind had created for him and wished dearly that it could be his reality. Sometime, between one thought and the next, Derek fell asleep and behind his eyelids, he saw the glint of Kate Argent’s teeth.

 

Derek valued routine. He woke up, ate breakfast, got dressed, brushed his teeth, and went for a run. When he got back, Derek showered, dressed in his day clothes, and drank tea—chai, this time. Before he painted today, Derek did some cleaning around his loft. As he worked, he plugged his iPod into its dock and played some music aloud. Derek left it playing when he finished and washed his hands, letting the melodies carry him as he retrieved his sketchbook and began to outline an idea for a new painting. The sketch was rough, including only simple detail, but Derek found himself liking it more and more as the image materialized on paper.

When he finished sketching, Derek wrote down the dimensions of the canvas he wanted to use. Then he went to his box of paint to make sure he had all of the colours and oil he needed. His brushes were in good shape; he took care of them. Derek kept the wood he used for his frames in the closet by the front door, along with his toolbox and a roll of canvas. Derek checked there to take inventory, making sure he had long enough pieces of wood for the frame he had in mind for this painting. It appeared a trip to the hardware store was not necessary today, so Derek took some pieces of wood and got out his toolbox so that he could cut the right dimensions. Then he nailed the pieces firmly together and got out the roll of canvas, carefully stretching it over his frame before he used an x-acto knife to cut it. He nailed down the canvas to the frame and then he got out his old, wide paintbrush and a jar of gesso to prime the canvas. Once it was coated, Derek set it by an air vent to dry and washed his hands, feeling satisfied with himself.

In Derek’s eagerness, he missed lunch, as it was late in the afternoon now. He made himself an early dinner and flopped onto his couch in the living room, flipping on his television to find something mindless for now. Derek was just beginning to relax, stomach settled, when his head began to ache. He groaned with irritation as a familiar dizziness took hold and he leaned over, taking his head in his hands. The world tipped and Derek fell to the floor of the house in Berkeley. Scowling, he rubbed his backside where it had collided painfully with the wood floor and got to his feet. He was standing by the stairs. Derek went to the kitchen to look at the clock and found that it was about the same time as it was in New York, taking into account the different time zones.

Derek killed some time straightening up the house; some work for grading had been left on the coffee table, so he fixed up the piles of marked and unmarked work. In the kitchen, he placed the dishes in the sink in the dishwasher. When Derek wasn’t sure what else to do, he took his phone from his pocket and called Stiles. The phone rang four times before picking up.

“You’re an asshole,” Stiles snapped, and the line went dead.

Derek blinked. What did he do? He called again. When Stiles didn’t pick up, Derek called a third time. Then a fourth.

Stiles finally picked up and said, “Why are you doing this? I thought we were done?”

“What made you think we were done?” Derek asked in confusion.

“Hmm, let me think.” Stiles said sarcastically. “Maybe it was when I came up to you and you acted like you’d never met me. Thanks for that, by the way. I love being humiliated in public. Or maybe it was when I called later to chew you out and found out that your number had been disconnected. I mean, really? _Really?_ If you didn’t want to see me anymore you could have just said something. You didn’t have to pretend nothing ever happened and change your fucking number. It’s not like I was going to stalk you.”

Derek’s heart thumped fast in his chest. “If my number changed, then how did you know this was me?”

There was a pause and Stiles said, “Huh. Weird. I guess you have the same number after all.”

“When did this happen?” Derek asked urgently.

“Yesterday. Oh wait, I forgot. You have Stiles-specific amnesia. Of course you conveniently don’t remember.” He snorted derisively.

“Shut up. What did I look like?”

“First you tell me to shut up, then you’re asking me questions. Make up your goddamned mind.”

“ _Stiles!_ ”

“Wait. Why do you sound so freaked out right now?” Stiles asked.

“Please, just answer my question!”

“Okay, okay! You were wearing these dumb hipster glasses—I didn’t know you needed them and I might have cracked a joke or two about it.”

Derek went to the living room and sat down on the couch before his knees could give out. “I don’t wear glasses,” he said quietly. “I’ve never worn them in my life; as a fashion statement or otherwise.”

“Well you were wearing them yesterday.” The annoyed tone was back.

“I didn’t have this dream yesterday.”

“Wait. What?”

“The lucid dreams!” Derek cried. “That’s why I’ve been reading about them. _I’m in one right now!_ ”

“Derek,” said Stiles, “you are _not_ dreaming. You might, however, be on some hallucinogenic drugs, in which case that is cause for some concern even if you’re a massive jackass. My dad is a cop, after all.”

“ _That wasn’t me!_ ”

“A massive jackass with multiple personality disorder, apparently. _Great_. I sure know how to pick ‘em.”

“I don’t even live in Berkeley! I’m not a TA! I never even left New York! I was just in my apartment over an hour ago!” Cold sweat had broken out over Derek’s body and his breath was coming too fast. “I’m dreaming.”

“Derek, you need to calm down,” Stiles said. He sighed. “Look, do you have anyone you can call or who I can get a hold of for you? You sound like you could use some help.”

A hysterical laugh bubbled out of Derek. “No, because my family is dead and my sister is in South America.” He couldn’t breathe. He was gasping in air, but it wasn’t filling his lungs.

“Derek, you need to hold your breath and slow down. You’re having a panic attack.”

“I can’t,” Derek choked out. His thoughts were a whine in his head and his pulse was racing so fast, he swore it was almost humming. “I’m dreaming!”

“No, Derek, you’re not! Look, hold your other hand in front of your face. Can you do that for me?”

Derek lifted his free, trembling hand and nodded before he remembered that Stiles couldn’t see him. “Y—yes.”

“Okay. Now listen to me: in dreams, people have extra fingers, so we’re going to count your fingers together. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. I want you to tell me what the first finger you see on your hand is.”

“M—my thumb.”

“Okay, that’s one. What’s the next thing you see?”

“I—I have an index finger…”

“There’s two. You’re doing great. What comes next?”

“My middle finger.” Derek hated how his voice shook.

“Hey, what do you know? That’s my favourite one! That’s three there. So what comes after that?”

“My ring finger.” Derek still couldn’t catch his breath.

“That’s four. We’re almost there, Derek. What else do you see?”

“My p—pinkie.”

“And that’s five. Now I need you to tell me, Derek: do you see any more fingers? Are there any more after that?”

“N—no…”

“Welcome back to reality, Derek. You’re not dreaming.”

Derek whimpered and started panting even harder. It was getting difficult to see.

“Oh fuck,” he heard Stiles say from far away. “That’s not what was supposed to happen.”

Derek’s mind was reeling. If this was real, it meant that Derek was taking over someone else’s life. And back in New York…

_Mass cannot be created or destroyed, only rearranged in space._

Someone was taking over his.


	3. What Alice Found There

Derek Hale’s life was good. It was simple and perhaps even a little dull to some, but it was good. He had his Master’s in history and was working as a TA at UC Berkeley, and at least once a month he visited his parents in the small town of Beacon Hills where he grew up. His older sister, Laura, was a firefighter in Redding with her husband, Jordan, who was a police officer. His younger brother, Michael, was in med school in LA where their cousins, Malia and Liam, were going to UCLA. His sister, Cora, was doing anthropology research abroad with her mentor. Derek’s social life was quiet—every once in a while, he’d go out with university friends or some of the other teaching assistants he worked with—but that was how he liked it.

Then his quiet, peaceful life was disrupted.

Derek was just about to make himself lunch when there was a sudden jolt. It felt like gravity reversed, only for a second, but it was long enough to send his head spinning at a hundred miles per hour. He stumbled to the floor, only his hands and knees were hitting smooth concrete instead of hardwood. The air he gasped in smelled sharp and chemical, making him choke with surprise. Derek pushed his glasses up his nose and got to his feet, breath catching as he took in his surroundings.

He was standing in a loft with an open floor plan. In front of him was a wide living space with a couch, coffee table, and entertainment system set up near the sliding front door. Next to the television speakers against the far wall was a long bookcase. The first few shelves were full of college textbooks and actual novels, but the rest of the shelves were filled with sketchbooks and art supplies; a box full of tubes of paint, bottles of oils, a large selection of paintbrushes. On this side of the room, there was open space, occupied only by an intricate vase in the corner next to a spiraling, wrought-iron staircase. On the wall opposite from the door, there was a large floor-to-ceiling window with a screen door leading out to a small balcony that was crowded with plants, a lawn chair, and an end table. When Derek turned around, he saw a small dining area and a kitchen that branched off of the living room with a small wall section to separate them. The walls were decorated with paintings of nature and animals, and Derek could see some framed photographs on the bookshelf. In the city streets below, there was a cacophony of traffic.

Frowning, Derek walked over to the bookshelf to examine the photographs. The first photograph was of him, Laura, and Cora. From the robe Cora was wearing and the paper in her hand, it must have been her college graduation, but Derek didn’t recognize the colours on her robe and in the background, there was a banner congratulating the graduating class at NYU. In the photo, Derek wasn’t wearing glasses, and he and Laura both had their arms around Cora, looking proudly at the camera. Derek wondered where Michael and their parents were. The second photograph was an old family picture that was taken when he was turning eighteen, the winter before he started college at Berkeley. Derek knew this had to be a dream—a very vivid one, but a dream nonetheless—but he wondered why the person who lived here would keep such a dated picture of them on display.

It was obvious to Derek that this was a dream. It didn’t feel like one, but there was no other explanation for it. He must have passed out on his way to the kitchen. Still, his curiosity was piqued. Derek went to the kitchen and found a pile of mail and papers on the countertop of the breakfast bar. He picked up the first envelope and read the name, ‘ _Mr. Derek C Hale_ ’, so this must be his apartment in the dream, which made sense. He sifted through the papers and found what appeared to be an information sheet.  

Derek’s eyebrows drew together as he read the page. It talked about the side effects of some experimental medication for depression. Sure, Derek had experienced his ups and downs, but he’d never been depressed in his life. Why would he be in his dream?

Derek decided to explore the apartment. It was only a dream and it was apparently his anyway, so he wasn’t worried about invading anyone’s privacy. He went up the spiral staircase and found a short hallway. On one side were the bathroom and a guest bedroom and on the other side was the master bedroom. Derek went into the main bedroom and looked around. If the décor downstairs was minimal, the bedroom was completely Spartan. The walls were painted eggshell blue and there was a navy comforter on the bed. The walls were bare, but there were patches of chipped paint and leftover holes in the wall from nails where posters and pictures must have once been hung. Across from the bed was a dresser with a mirror. Some mundane objects were strewn across the surface of the dresser—a stick of antiperspirant, a wallet, some pocket change, an iPod, books, and a lone sock—and then there was a photograph.

Upon closer inspection, Derek saw that it was another old group family photo of the Hales. On the nightstand next to the bed, there was another framed picture fighting for space with an alarm clock; this one of Laura and Cora standing together with the Statue of Liberty in the background. Chewing his lip, Derek opened the closet doors, searching the shelf above the shirts that were neatly hung. There were a few boxes tucked on the shelf and even more below Derek’s shirts, along with a small filing cabinet. Next to the boxes on the shelf was a cumbersome photo album.

Derek took the photo album down from the shelf and blew the dust off of its cover before settling it on the bedspread. As he looked through it, he found it was no different from his photo album in the waking world. There were pictures of him and his siblings during their infancy and following them as they grew up. Derek flipped ahead, finding his late teenage years. There. The family pictures around the house were from the Christmas get-together when he turned eighteen. More pictures of him and his family members continued until the summer, but then they suddenly skipped to pictures of New York, featuring only him, Laura, and Cora; all looking weary and miserable. The pictures seemed to be taken far apart, but the sadness clung to Derek and his sisters for a few pages before they began to look happy again. Derek never wore his glasses in his pictures either. Closer to the end, there were pictures of Derek displaying paintings—apparently his. But the last photograph was of Laura, grinning at the camera with a mug of coffee held between her two hands.

Dread filled Derek’s stomach as he closed the photo album and returned it to the shelf. Taking a deep breath, Derek knelt down and opened the top drawer of the filing cabinet. There were three sections: one for his parents and brother, one for Uncle Peter’s family, and one for Aunt Nina’s family. Derek began to look through them and oh.

_Oh._

For each family member, there was a death certificate for the same day: the twenty-first of July, 2006. Derek’s heart ached in his chest and he replaced the documents, hands shaking as he opened the bottom drawer. These sections were labeled: Derek and Laura. Derek searched through Laura’s files frantically and when he found it, he felt like he’d been punched in the chest: another death certificate, this time dated January sixteenth, 2014.

Derek shut the filing cabinet and closed the closet doors before he went to lie on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He felt numb. He knew it was only a dream, but even the thought of losing everyone… It was unbearable. He could only hope that the absence of Cora’s files meant that she was alive and well.

When Derek woke in his own bed later, the first thing he did was call Laura just to hear her voice. Then he went downstairs to get something to eat from the kitchen since he missed lunch. On the fridge door was a reminder to drive up to Beacon Hills for dinner with the family. Derek couldn’t for the life of him remember writing the note, but after that dream he couldn’t think of anything better.

After enjoying a visit with his family, Derek didn’t think about the dream again until another lucid dream struck him out of nowhere and he found himself in the strange apartment again. He did more exploring and found out that the apartment was in Manhattan, but still nothing really stood out to him about the dream itself aside from how astonishingly vivid it was. He couldn’t even tell the difference between the dream and being awake. Still, he spent the rest of the weekend working on grading his students’ final seminar assignments. The last seminar before exams had been on Thursday, so he was holding a study meeting for his students at the library after his office hours on Tuesday. Derek arrived at the library at 4:15. The librarian, Ms. Jennifer Blake, greeted Derek when she saw him.

“Back so soon? I don’t usually get to see you twice in one week. Is it my birthday?” She winked playfully, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder.

“This is the first time I’ve been here this week.” Derek frowned in confusion. “I’m running a study session for my third year students.”

Jennifer narrowed her eyes, smirking. “Are you toying with my head, Derek? You were just here on Saturday.”

Derek froze momentarily. On Saturday, he was in Manhattan—or in his dream he was anyway. He pasted a smile on his face. “Technically, Saturday isn’t this week.”

Jennifer groaned, rolling her eyes. “Semantics!”

“Anyway, I’d better prepare for my students,” said Derek.

“Of course,” said Jennifer. “They don’t deserve you!”

Derek grinned at her. “I know.” He went to the second floor of the library and found the reading area he’d booked for the study session. Derek positioned the chairs around the room to face one of the tables, then he placed his messenger bag on the table and took out some of his notes. There was a whiteboard on wheels, so he arranged it next to the table so that he could write things down for his students.

The students filed in and the session began at 4:30. Derek started out by outlining the exam and covering some of the main topics that the students should study. He also gave out practice exams and told them that he would post the answers online. At the end of the session, Derek welcomed questions for his students, answering those that he could.

Though the study session ran smoothly, Derek couldn’t stop thinking about what Jennifer had said about seeing him on Saturday. After the last student finally left and Derek finished setting the room back in order, he went to the front desk to talk to Jennifer.

“When I was here on Saturday,” said Derek, “do you remember what I came for? I thought I was done then, but something else came up so I wanted to take a look at those books again.”

“You never officially signed them out,” said Jennifer, “so none of them ended up on the record. But I recall putting away some books on lucid dreaming.”

“Lucid dreaming?” Derek’s eyes widened and his heart thudded in his chest. “Do you know where I can find them again?”

“Of course.” Jennifer nodded. “I can’t remember exactly which books you had, but I’ll write the section down for you. Surely that should be enough to jog your memory.” She got a piece of scrap paper from her desk and wrote down section number before handing it to Derek.

“Thanks for your help,” he said, smiling.

“Anything for you, Mr. Hale.”

Derek read the number on the piece of paper that was given to him and quickly found the section in the library. He read the titles of some of the books and scientific journals that were kept there and took a few at random. Derek brought them to a table and began to look through them. From what Derek was reading, what he was experiencing when he found himself in Manhattan wasn’t lucid dreaming. Derek pressed his lips together. Jennifer saw him at the library, but he knew for sure that he had never left home. Could it be possible that who Jennifer saw wasn’t really Derek? She had a near-eidetic memory, able to recognize faces and features with alarming precision. There was no way she could mistake Derek for anyone else.

Unless someone else was identical to him.

Could it be that when Derek was dreaming of Manhattan, someone else was in his place? A wilder part of him thought maybe Manhattan hadn’t been a dream at all. Fear lanced through him and Derek returned the books to their places hastily before he left the library.

 

Exams rapidly approached and Derek threw himself into his work, seeking a reprieve from the thoughts that tormented him. The memories of an apartment that was his and not his haunted the corners of his mind and he worked tirelessly to keep them away from the forefront of his brain. The next time Derek found himself in Manhattan, he was in the middle of reading a book. He fell to the floor of the loft and, cursing, found a notepad, writing on it, ‘ _Leave me alone!_ ’ before sticking the message to the fridge. After that, Derek left the apartment to go for a walk.

The streets of Manhattan made Derek feel small in a way Berkeley never had. People passed him without a second glance. He felt invisible. He found himself wondering if the Derek who lived here knew anyone at all or if he just drifted through life anonymously. He knew that this Derek was depressed in at least some capacity—there was a bottle of Prozac on top of the microwave in the kitchen—but was he really so detached from the world around him?

Well, Derek thought, he certainly was detached enough that he’d drifted into _his_ world.

Not that Derek was any closer to figuring out how the hell that was happening.

The only person Derek encountered who seemed to know him was the girl working at the counter in the café next to his apartment building. She greeted Derek by name and asked what kind of tea he wanted today. Feeling a little spiteful, Derek asked for a latte with espresso instead.

While he was in the state anyway, Derek decided to go to an Italian restaurant for dinner so that he could try some New York pizza. If there was anything positive that came out of this experience, it was definitely the pizza. Derek moaned as he bit into the thick layer of cheese and toppings on the crust. It was earlier than he would have eaten back home in Berkeley, so when he stumbled into his own house (thankfully, after he arrived back at the apartment) he skipped dinner to work on marking his students’ assignments.

 

The next day, Derek was out for a jog when someone called his name. He stopped and turned around as he heard the sound, adjusting his glasses. A young man with pale, mole-flecked skin and dark eyes smiled widely at him and waved as he walked over.

“Nice glasses, four-eyes. I didn’t know you wore them.”

Derek frowned. The man looked young and Derek didn’t recognize him, but he asked, “Are you one of my students?”

The man rolled his eyes. “Ha ha, very funny. So what’s up? I know you said you’d like to see me again, but I didn’t think you meant the next day.”

“What?”

The man looked awkward now, glancing around before narrowing his eyes at Derek. “Is there something on my face? You’re giving me this really weird vibe and you have this deer-in-the-headlights look.”

“I’m sorry,” said Derek hastily, “but I think you have me mistaken for someone else.”

The man barked a bitter laugh. “Not unless there are two Dereks who look exactly alike running around.”

Derek bit his lip and sucked in a sharp breath. In his chest, he could feel his heartbeat ramping up. “I don’t know you. I’m sorry. I have to go.”

He started jogging and behind him he heard the man shout, “Derek, wait! What did I do?” Derek ran even faster. Even when he was sure he wasn’t being pursued, Derek didn’t slow down until he got to his house and was safely inside, though he suspected there wasn’t anywhere he was safe from the real danger. After showering, Derek went to his room and sat on his bed with his cellphone, calling the one person he could always depend on.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Jordan,” said Derek. “Is Laura there? I need to talk to her.”

“Yeah, of course,” said Laura’s husband. “Just hang on a sec and I’ll get her.” There was a muffled sound and then Derek could distantly hear Jordan saying, “Laura? Your brother wants to talk to you on the phone… Well which one is always calling?” There was a feminine laugh and then some more noise before a voice cut through, crystal clear.

“Hey, Derek.”

“Laura.” Her name passed through Derek’s lips like a breath of fresh air. She had always possessed a unique ability to calm Derek down when he was stressed. Not even their parents could replicate the Laura Effect, as Cora had come to call it.

“What’s going on?” Laura asked.

“It’s kind of complicated,” said Derek. “I don’t know if you’d believe me if I tried to explain it. But I need to know: when’s the last time you spoke to me?”

“You can’t remember?”

“Please, just humour me.”

“Alright,” said Laura. “The last time I can remember hearing from you was two weeks ago. You were bitching about the card your third year students presented to you during your last seminar because they addressed it to ‘Mr. Sunshine’.”

Derek smiled with relief and fondness at the memory. The card was currently sitting on top of his dresser. “Okay, good. Thanks, Laura.”

“So do you want to tell me what this is all about?”

“Maybe later,” said Derek. “I’d like to see if I can work things out on my own first. You and Jordan are busy enough; I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

“You’re family, Derek. It’s never trouble.”

“Remember that time Michael got stuck up a tree naked while he was streaking across campus and he drunk dialled us to come help him down?”

“Ugh. That’s different. Michael isn’t family; Mom and Dad just found him in the preserve one day. I can’t believe he’s in medical school now.”

“Don’t pretend your freshman year was so kosher.”

“We don’t talk about those days, remember?”

“I thought that was just the rule with high school.”

“ _Don’t._ ”

Derek laughed. “I won’t, I won’t!”

“You better not!” Laura sighed. “Anyway, if you’re insistent on figuring things out on your own, that’s okay. But if you need help, don’t hesitate to call me, okay? And in return, I won’t hesitate to say I told you so.”

“I can’t believe you convinced someone to marry you.”

“Shut up.”

“But I promise I’ll call.”

“Alright. Anything else?”

“Nah, I think I’m all good.”

“Okay. Take care then, little bro. And good luck!”

“Thank you, Laura.” Derek hung up with a smile on his face. The other Derek was still a problem, but once again, Laura had worked her magic. Derek wondered what his other self did without her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response I have received to this fic has been amazing and I am so thankful for it! You are all wonderful! This chapter is a lot shorter than normal, but do not fret! It is only because this is a transition between the first and second arc in the story. Chapter four is going to be much longer, but unfortunately that also means it will take more time to write. I hope that this chapter helped answer some of your questions for now!


	4. For All Intents And Purposes

Derek didn’t know how long he had been sitting on the couch when he heard a knock on the door. His phone had fallen from his hand at some point and was now lying on the floor face-up, the call long since ended. The sound broke Derek out of his reverie and he picked up the phone, locking it and placing it in his pocket before he went to the door and opened it with barely steady hands. Stiles stood on the porch with his hands in his pockets. The expression on his face was simultaneously irritated and concerned.

“Hey,” he said, rocking a little on his heels. “Can I come in?” Derek just stared. Stiles rolled his eyes and stepped forward, forcing Derek to step aside as he entered the house—not that it was actually Derek’s house to invite another person into. Stiles looked around and, upon spotting the living room couch, walked over to it, muttering, “Come on,” over his shoulder to Derek. He sat down and Derek hesitated at his side until Stiles gave him an impatient look. Derek made sure to leave half a cushion of space between them. There was a moment of awkward silence and Derek felt Stiles watching him. Finally, Stiles asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Terrified,” Derek said. “Why are you here?”

“You were having a panic attack,” said Stiles. “I wasn’t going to leave you alone.”

“You said I was a massive jackass.”

Stiles sighed, looking away. “Well from the way you were freaking out, there’s more to this than meets the eye. So I guess this is your cue to tell me your side of the story.”

Derek shook his head. “You’re never going to believe me.”

“Try me.”

Derek stared at the floor as he spoke. “When I was eighteen years old, my family was killed in a fire after there was a gas leak explosion under our house while we were having a reunion. The only survivors were me and my two sisters, Laura and Cora, because we made a run to the grocery store. After the funerals, we moved to New York and got a place together in Manhattan. We didn’t want to touch the life insurance money, so Laura dropped out of college, giving up her life savings and education to pay the rent and put me and Cora through school. We were all really messed up for a while and I wanted to take a year off to gather my bearings, but Laura wouldn’t let me. She said we couldn’t let our lives end with them and I couldn’t let her sacrifice go to waste. I got into art and started doing it on the side to help pay for food, rent, and tuition, and then I helped pay Cora’s tuition too. I got my own place. Life was becoming good again.

“Then, five months ago, Laura was in a car accident. She… didn’t make it. I struggled for a long time—I’m still struggling. I haven’t painted anything I can sell since… before. I really needed money, and then I saw this advertisement for a clinical trial with this new pharmaceutical to treat depression. I was on Prozac and they were offering to pay the participants so I figured, why not? Ever since then, I’ve been periodically coming here. One second I’m in my apartment, the next I’m here in this house and the gas leak explosion apparently never happened.”

“Let me get this straight,” said Stiles. “You’re telling me that you’re from an alternate universe where your life is shit and… what? The Derek who lives in this universe is the one I saw yesterday?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Stiles snorted. “It was implied.”

Derek turned to glare at him. “Then why don’t you tell me that’s happening, huh? Because until I spoke to you on the phone, I was convinced that this was all a series of lucid dreams.”

“I don’t know.” Stiles scratched his head, making his hair stick up. “This is way outside of my ballpark. I’m not a psychiatrist or a physicist, but _alternate universes?_ Usually I’m pretty good with suspending my disbelief but _this_ …” Stiles sat up and pointed a finger at Derek. “If you’re fucking with me, I swear to god I will kill you and no one will ever find your body.”

“I thought you were a cop’s kid.”

“Statistically, people with connections to law enforcement are more likely to be offenders.”

“Look, Stiles, I promise you I’m not trying to mess with your head,”said Derek. “I wouldn’t believe any of this myself if only I could find a better explanation for it, but I can’t.”

“So your family really did die eight years ago?”

“Yep.”

“And now your sister’s dead too?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Wow,” said Stiles. “No offense, but crazy or not, you are in desperate need of therapy.”

“So they keep telling me.”

“Who’s ‘ _they_ ’?” Stiles narrowed his eyes. “You’re not hearing voices too, are you?”

Derek leveled him with a scowl. “ _No._ I’m referring to my doctor and my sister.”

“And by your sister, you mean the one who’s alive, right?” Derek’s glare hardened and Stiles raised his hands, saying, “Sorry! Sorry! That was insensitive. It just all seems so… melodramatic. Like, you actually have the worst life out of anyone I have ever met!”

“ _Thank you._ ”

Stiles cringed. “I’m just making it worse, aren’t I? So, not that it’s any of my business, but if people are telling you to go to therapy, then why don’t you?”

Derek dropped his gaze. “The short answer is: I think it’s a waste of my money. The long answer is: I’ve been through this before when the fire happened, and I think I’ll probably just hear the same things I did then; all these grieving techniques and ways to cope and move on. There are people who would benefit a lot more from it than I would, so they don’t need me cutting into their time. I don’t really have money to throw around either and I don’t want to use the life insurance money unless it’s a last resort. But really, I’m just sick of the pity. I hate that more than anything else.”

Cautiously, Stiles shifted closer until their sides were touching. “I get that,” he said softly. “My mom died when I was ten and I hated telling people or seeing people who knew because they’d always get this look on their faces. I still hate it. I actually had the first panic attack in years on my twenty-first birthday because I realized that I’d spent more than half my life without her.”

Derek swallowed, his mouth dry. “The first time I was here, my mother called and I answered the phone. I cried.”

Stiles’ hand covered Derek’s, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I would have cried too. Like a baby.”

Derek finally turned toward Stiles, shaking his head in disbelief. “Are you sure I’m not dreaming? You can’t be real.”

Stiles sighed and raised their joined hands. Then, one by one, Stiles used his other hand to lift Derek’s fingers, kissing the pad of each one before he counted aloud. _Kiss._ “One.” _Kiss._ “Two.” _Kiss._ “Three.” _Kiss._ “Four.” _Kiss._ “Five.” All the while, Derek watched in awe; and when Stiles smiled tentatively at him from behind a five-fingered hand, Derek shifted his captured hand to the side to brush the backs of his knuckles over Stiles’ cheek. Stiles turned his head to kiss Derek’s palm. “I’ll admit,” he murmured, “I’m a little flattered that you consider me the man of your dreams.”

“More like the man of my nightmares,” said Derek.

Stiles huffed a laugh, grinning against Derek’s hand until he lowered it to play with Derek’s fingers. “I still don’t know if I believe this whole alternate universe thing.”

Derek shrugged. “That makes two of us.”

“So what else is different in your universe then?” asked Stiles.

“Remember when you asked me about the Twin Towers in my painting?”

“Yeah. What about ‘em?”

“They were destroyed thirteen years ago in a terrorist attack.”

“Holy shit! _Really?_ ”

“I haven’t lied to you once tonight,” said Derek.

Stiles paused, frowning in thought. “Have you lied to me before?”

“Only when I was pretending I was the Derek who lives here.”

“Does this mean we’re technically breaking into his house?”

“Probably.”

“Damn.”

“If it makes you feel any better, technically he’s breaking into my apartment right now.”

Stiles made a face and rubbed his temples. “This is so fucking weird.”

“And yet you’re still here.”

Stiles paused. “Do you _want_ me to be here?”

Derek curled his fingers around Stiles’ stilled hands. “If you want to be, then yeah.”

Stiles gave Derek’s hand a squeeze. “So when you say you’ve been coming here, do you think you have any control over it or does it just… happen?”

“I don’t know,” Derek admitted. “I suppose I could try.”

“And you seriously had no idea?”

“I get headaches before it happens,” Derek said. “At first I’d get migraines and I was really hungry before and after. I’d feel my body temperature rise. But I had no idea what was happening to me. Jumping into an alternate universe wasn’t exactly the obvious explanation.”

“Point taken. But clearly whatever mechanism is allowing you to do this has some energy requirement that comes from you, and if it’s easier now, your body must be getting used to it.”

“Really? I never would have guessed.”

Stiles took one of his hands from Derek’s and punched him in the arm. “Don’t be a dick. I’m trying to understand this.”

“I know.” Derek’s voice softened. “I appreciate it.”

“You think I’m doing this for you, but for all you know I could just be using your story to write my next best seller.”

“Do you even have a first best seller?”

Stiles punched Derek’s arm again. “I take everything back; you’re still a massive jackass.”

Derek smirked with amusement. Stiles left shortly after now that Derek was no longer on the verge of working himself into another panic attack. When he was alone, Derek went to the kitchen and found a notepad and pen. After writing his message, he left the paper by the pile of assignments being graded and settled down to wait for his inevitable return to his own apartment.

 

***

 

‘ _I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s happening to us._ ’

That’s what was written on the note Derek found next to his marking on the coffee table the next morning. After being returned to his house last night, Derek hadn’t had the heart to return to his students’ papers and had intended to finish grading the last of them today. The penmanship was identical to Derek’s own, made glaringly obvious as the note rested next to the stack of red-marked papers. Now that contact had been made, there was no way for Derek to ignore what was happening. He sighed and was about to sit down when he heard a knock on the door. Derek groaned with frustration and walked over to the entryway, opening the door and freezing. The young man who had approached Derek two days ago was standing on the porch with a sheepish half-smile and his hands were fidgeting nervously.

“Hey,” the young man said. “I’m going to take a guess and say you don’t know who I am?”

Derek nodded dumbly and, upon realizing his mouth was open, closed it. “How do you know where I live?”

“My name is Stiles Stilinski,” said the man, “and I know you—or the other you, I should say.” Derek’s heart leapt in his throat and he stood aside to invite the man, Stiles, inside his house. He led Stiles to the living room, and as the man took a seat on the couch, he said, “Man, this is some weird déjà vu.”

Derek sat down in the armchair adjacent to the couch and asked, “How much do you know about what’s happening to me?”

“Not much,” Stiles confessed, “but probably more than you do. I only know as much as the other you knows.”

Derek swallowed and he felt his heart race in his chest. This was finally his chance to find some answers. “And how much does he know?”

“He lives in Manhattan. After his sister, Laura, died, he decided to be a guinea pig for some new drug meant to treat depression,” said Stiles. “Then he started getting these weird symptoms, like headaches and hunger. He thought he was having lucid dreams.” He got a funny look on his face then, like he thought of something humorous. “Then after I ran into you the other day—sorry about that, by the way—I bitched him out on the phone last night. So now we think that he’s from an alternate universe and the two of you have been trading places. Sound familiar?”

Derek took a shuddering breath. “Yeah. It does. And I’m sorry about the other day, too. I was rude.”

“Dude, I get it. You must have been freaking out.”

“That’s a light way of putting it.”

Stiles laughed. “Yeah, well, I think it was pretty justified.”

“So how did you two meet?” Derek asked.

“Saw him at the library,” said Stiles. “I started hitting on him.”

“Then you’re… together?”

“We’re something,” said Stiles. “I came by last night while he was panicking here. I guess he didn’t take the alternate universe realization so well either.”

“And you _are?_ ”

“I’m still not entirely convinced you’re not just crazy, but I don’t think you’re trying to mess with me anymore. Not even Tom Hanks is that good of an actor.”

Derek nodded with understanding. “So now that we know what’s happening, what do we do?”

“First of all, _we_ are doing nothing. _I_ am going to consult a friend of mine who is a lot more knowledgeable in this stuff than any of us and find out if alternate universes are even possible. Then we’ll figure out where to go from there.”

“You mean we’ll find out how to stop it,” said Derek.

“What? You’re not going to take the chance to see the sights New York has to offer? You’re not going to go check out the Statue of Liberty and walk in Central Park?”

“I have no one there,” said Derek, shaking his head. “Everyone is dead or out of my reach. I just want my life to go back to normal.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Stiles asked.

“I like my life! I just want it back. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” Stiles raised his hands in surrender. “We’ll figure things out. I’ll talk to my people and then I’ll talk to Derek—or the _other_ Derek.” He stood up then, brushing imaginary dust off the front of his jeans. “Anyway, I should head out. You probably have stuff to do and I just wanted to confirm some things. I’ll give you my number so you can get a hold of me though in case… I don’t know. _Just in case_.” Stiles wrote down his cellphone number on the back of the note that had been left for Derek, then he gave Derek a small smile. “I guess I’ll leave you to it then.”

Derek held out a hand and Stiles raised his eyebrows before shaking it. “Thank you,” said Derek, “for giving me some answers and for all of your help.”

Stiles scoffed. “I haven’t done anything yet.”

“It still matters to me.”

Stiles ducked his head. “Take care, man.”

He started heading toward the door when a thought suddenly occurred to Derek and he shouted, “Wait!” Stiles stopped and turned to look at him expectantly. “What’s he like?” asked Derek. “The other me.”

A playful grin toyed with the edges of Stiles’ mouth. “Less polite, doesn’t smile much, but funny as hell. He’s got a killer deadpan; pun not intended.”

Derek nodded to himself. “Makes sense. I guess I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah. Later!” Stiles waved and shut the door behind himself as he left. Derek stood in the entryway for a long moment, thinking over the conversation he just had. He wondered if the other Derek, as Stiles put it, had anyone to talk to about this. Feeling better about the situation than he had in weeks, Derek returned to the living room and picked up the last few assignments he had to mark. He’d finish these today and then submit his students’ grades online before exams.

 

***

 

Two days after Derek’s impromptu visit to Berkeley and his subsequent panic upon calling Stiles, Derek’s cellphone began to ring as he was walking into his bedroom from his post-run shower. With one hand, Derek held his towel securely around his waist, and with the other hand, Derek brought his phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Is this Derek?” asked a vaguely familiar feminine voice.

It took Derek a moment to place its owner and after a brief hesitation, he said, “Erica?”

“Yeah,” she replied. “It’s me.”

“How are you doing?” Derek asked. She sounded nervous.

“I’m at the hospital, but I’m just fine. The doctors don’t want me to drive myself though and I don’t want to worry my parents…”

“Which hospital are you at?” Derek demanded.

“Lennox Hill.”

“I’m on my way.” Derek hung up his phone and quickly scrubbed the water from his skin with his towel and ran it over his hair one last time. Once he was dressed, Derek grabbed his keys and hurried from his loft.

Laura’s most prized possession, when she was alive, was a black, 2010 Chevy Camaro. It was the first real thing she bought for herself after the fire. Once Derek began helping to pay for their living expenses and college tuition, Laura began saving the money she earned from her multiple jobs; just enough that it wouldn’t be missed and reduce their quality of life. When Derek realized what she was doing, he put more money forward for Cora and himself. Derek hadn’t seen Laura do anything truly selfish in years. He didn’t know what she was saving the money for and he knew that she would never accept money from him in direct support for her cause—this was hers, and hers alone—so he contributed in subtle ways to make it easier for Laura to achieve her goal. Then one day, Derek returned home from the art gallery to find a Camaro parked in front of their apartment building. When he mentioned it to Laura, she’d bitten her lip to hide a grin and said, quietly ecstatic, “It’s mine.”

They all had wills; Derek, Laura, and Cora. The trauma of the gas leak explosion that took their family’s lives taught them that life was a fragile thing and it could end at any moment. Laura was always a smart woman. Though she never said anything about it, Derek had always suspected that she knew he’d tried to help her save up the money to buy the Camaro. Derek’s suspicions were confirmed when Laura’s will was released after her death. While Laura left many things to her younger sister, her beloved Camaro was left to Derek.

When Laura bought the Camaro she also purchased a book on auto-mechanics. Whenever the Camaro needed a tune-up or an oil change, she did it herself. When Derek inherited the Camaro from her, he also took the book and learned how to care for the car as she did. It’s what she would have wanted, he thought.

Derek got into that Camaro now and drove it as fast as he safely could to the Lennox Hill Hospital. As he strode through the front doors of the facility, he cast his mind back to the surname Erica had given him when she first introduced herself. Derek marched up to the receptionist’s desk and the middle-aged woman seated there raised her head from her paperwork to meet his gaze.

“Can I help you, sir?” asked the woman.

“I’m looking for Erica Reyes,” Derek told her.

“Are you a relative of Miss Reyes’?”

“Yes,” Derek lied. “I’m her cousin. She called me to pick her up.”

The woman looked Derek up and down and raised a skeptical eyebrow. The name on the little tag clipped to her shirt said, ‘ _Leah_ ’. “She’s in room 207.”

“Thank you.” Derek found a set of stairs, not wanting to get in the way of doctors and patients who required the use of the elevator. Room 207 proved to be fairly easy to find. Derek knocked gently on the door before entering. Erica was sitting in the bed, blonde hair cascading down her shoulders. She was dressed in a hospital gown and her lap and legs were covered by the blankets. The bored pout on her lips melted away, replaced by a smirk as she looked up to see Derek.

“Wow. That was fast,” she said. “Maybe if you were hired as a delivery boy, I’d actually get my pizza in time.”

Derek walked over to be bed, tracing her features in search of injuries. “What happened?” he asked.

“I’ll tell you in a bit,” said Erica.

A doctor entered the room then and his eyes widened as they caught sight of Derek. “Oh,” he said. “You must be Erica’s cousin.”

“That’s right,” said Derek.

“I really must insist that Miss Reyes reconsiders her decision to discharge herself this afternoon,” said the doctor. “It really would be safest if we could observe her for one more night.”

“If I wanted someone to observe me in a bed,” said Erica dryly, “I’d make a sex tape.”

“The risk for complications is very high.”

“I haven’t dropped dead so far; I think I’m good.”

The doctor sighed and handed Erica a clipboard so that she could sign herself out. Then the doctor turned to Derek. “I would recommend that you keep an eye on Miss Reyes tonight, just to be safe. If there are no incidents, she should be okay.”

“Yeah, thanks. He’s got it,” said Erica as she tossed back the blankets and kicked her legs over the side of the bed. She scooped up a plastic bag resting next to the legs of the hospital bed and sashayed into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her so that she could change back into her own clothing. She emerged minutes later in a navy blue jumpsuit and a white tank-top. Her name was stitched in gold-on-black just above the breast of her jumpsuit.

“Ready to go?” Derek asked.

“You have no idea,” said Erica, rolling her eyes. They took the elevator this time and passed the ride in silence. Erica whistled as they approached the Camaro in the parking lot. “This is yours?”

“It used to be my sister’s,” said Derek. He didn’t elaborate and Erica didn’t ask. Derek got into the driver’s seat after unlocking the vehicle and Erica sat next to him in the passenger seat. Derek turned his keys in the ignition and Erica gave him her address. A minute of silence passed as they pulled onto the road before Derek asked, “So what’s the real reason you called me to pick you up?”

Erica stuck out her lower lip, brown eyes going wide and doe-like in exaggerated innocence. “I told you: I didn’t want to worry my parents over nothing.”

“That’s not all of it.”

Erica turned to face the window. At first, Derek didn’t think she was going to reply at all, but then she said, “You’re right. There _is_ more to it than that.” She sighed and tipped her head back against the seat. “I called because of what you said about migraines and sleepwalking when we were at Argent’s lab.”

Derek frowned. “And that made me seem like a dependable person?”

“No, but I thought maybe you were like me.”

Derek sat up straighter. “Like you, how?”

Erica shook her head. “I’m going to sound crazy.”

Derek almost laughed. “After the last few days I’ve had, I’m willing to believe about anything.”

Erica hazarded a glance at him before stubbornly looking out the window. “I haven’t had any seizures since my injection. That’s weird; usually I’ll get them once every couple weeks or so. 

“When I was a kid, I could never just play with an electronic toy. I always had to take everything apart to see how it fit together and then put it back together again. My parents always knew I’d either end up an engineer or some kind of mechanic. Turns out epilepsy and high school don’t go well together, so after that I had no desire to go to college.

“So as a mechanic, and as a kid who was constantly messing with electronics, I’ve had my fair share of being electrocuted. Usually it’s just small stuff—tingling in my fingertips, you know?—but sometimes you get something a little stronger and it hurts like a bitch. I’ve gotten so used to it that at first, I didn’t realize there was anything different. I just wasn’t getting shocked. I work on a lot of things; cars, microwaves, light fixtures, and electrical sockets; you name it. I think it took me about a week to figure out that electricity just didn’t seem to have any effect on me anymore. I was fixing a light switch and later as I was getting into my car, I realized I’d forgotten to put my insulated gloves on.

“I did some experimenting after that and: nope! I just couldn’t get shocked from _anything_. Instead I kept shocking other people. I’d go to shake my customers’ hands after they paid me and there’d be a spark as I touched them. This one lady looked at me like I pissed in her cereal, swore up and down that I must have hidden a joy-buzzer somewhere.

“It came to a head yesterday morning though. I got a call from the power station; some dumbass hit a telephone pole and they wanted my help to get the car running and out of the way while the workers tried to fix the downed power line. So I go to the crash site and the guy is standing off to the side, bitching, as I help the workers from the station move the car out of the way. I tripped over one of the pylons like an idiot and my hand hits the live wire. Everyone loses their shit and I’m just sitting there, completely fine. Luckily, I remembered to grab the rubber base of the pylon before touching anyone; it’s an insulator, right? They all insisted I go to the hospital but...” Erica shrugged. “Nothing. The doctors kept me overnight just to make sure I didn’t randomly go into cardiac arrest, but I’m just fine.”

“Let me get this straight,” said Derek. “I took a handful of seconds to ask you about migraines and sleepwalking, and you decided to trust me with this insane story?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Derek saw Erica raise an eyebrow at him. “Sounds like the kind of thing that would happen in a dream, right? So what about you: were you really sleepwalking?”

Derek hesitated for a pregnant moment before he said quietly, “No.”

Erica’s lips curved upward in a smug expression. “That’s what I thought. So what’s your story?”

“I sometimes travel to an alternate universe in which my dead family is alive and I live in Berkeley,” Derek deadpanned. “I trade places with my alternate self.”

Erica glared. “Are you making fun of me?”

“I wish,” said Derek.

Erica was frowning now, watching Derek with puzzlement. “So have you met your alternate self?”

“No,” said Derek.

“Then how do you know he exists?”

“He does things at my apartment while I’m in Berkeley and he got me in trouble with someone there while I was here.”

“Wait,” said Erica. “Are you telling me you have a girlfriend in an alternate universe?”

“No.”

“A boyfriend?”

“I don’t think a single date makes him my boyfriend.”

“I don’t know if that’s romantic or pathetic.”

Derek narrowed his eyes at her, briefly. “How about you keep your opinions to yourself and I don’t crash my Camaro into another telephone pole for science?”

Erica barked out a laugh. “ _Please_. You would never crash a car this expensive just to prove a point.”

She was right for the wrong reason, but all Derek said was, “You never know.” He pulled up in front of Erica’s apartment building and let the Camaro idle on the side of the road.

“Thanks for picking me up,” said Erica.

Derek shrugged. “Call me if you need me.”

Erica unbuckled her seatbelt and closed her fingers around the door handle before she paused. “Do you think there are others like us?”

Derek didn’t have to ask what she meant. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe.”

Erica nodded to herself. “It’d be cool if we could find more of us.”

“Who knows?”

Erica smiled. “Take care, Derek.” Then she got out of the Camaro. Derek waited until he saw her enter the apartment building safely before he pulled back onto the road and headed home.

When Derek arrived back at his loft, he paced the length of it, tapping his fingers against the side of his leg agitatedly. It never once occurred to Derek to think that he wasn’t the only one experiencing some alternative side effects to the drug Argent administered, that what he was going through wasn’t just an anomaly. And if there were others, what did that mean? Erica was impervious to electricity. Was there someone else who was crossing into another world like Derek or were they all unique? Perhaps Argent’s depression drug was just the face of something more sinister. It seemed very unlikely to Derek that his and Erica’s abilities were the results of a fluke.

Derek found the information sheet, now folded and tucked away in the “junk drawer” in his kitchen. _Neurotetraphan._ That was the name of the drug Gerard Argent gave them. Derek chewed his lower lip and clutched his cellphone in his hand. He didn’t want to involve Cora, but if Argent had wrongfully advertised the nature of his drug, then this was a legal issue.

Wait. His _cellphone._

Derek opened his contacts list and stared at the text printed name _Kate Argent._ Maybe she would know something about her father’s work. Derek selected her contact and sent a text asking her to meet him at the gym. An enthusiastic affirmative reply arrived within minutes. Derek grabbed his duffel bag from his bedroom closet and held his car keys tightly in his hand, Laura’s triskelion keychain dangling down his wrist. It was time to get some answers.

 

Kate was beaming when Derek exited the men’s locker room and joined her in the gym. They warmed up together on the treadmills and helped each other with stretches, Kate complimenting Derek’s toned musculature. They spotted each other as they took turns with the weight training equipment. Kate told Derek about some of the more ridiculous cases she had worked as an attorney—all without using names, of course. Though she came on a little strong, Derek had to admit: the woman was charming. It made Derek feel a little guilty as he asked her out to coffee afterward and she accepted with a pleased smile.

They met in the lobby after they had both showered and changed into their street clothes. Kate wore a low cut tank-top and a black jacket with her jeans; flirty, but sharp. They entered a cafe down the road from the gym and after consulting Kate, Derek bought her a vanilla latte and ordered himself earl grey tea. They say sat at a table by the window where they could watch the cars rush by.

For the first few minutes, they simply chatted. Kate did most of the speaking, which Derek was content with, and she didn’t pressure him to talk about himself too much. When Kate finished telling a story about her brother, Chris, who was an arms dealer, Derek asked, “How much do you know about your father’s work?”

Kate bobbed her head from side to side, eyes on the ceiling in thought. “Some,” she conceded. “I couldn’t tell you the exact science of what he does, but he talks a little about his research—like his goals and some of his experiments. He teaches during the fall semester and then he bitches about his students from time to time.”

“What kind of credentials does he have?”

“I know he has a background in some area of physics; you’d have to look it up,” said Kate, “but his PhD is in pharmaceutical chemistry, obviously.”

“Of course,” said Derek. He leaned forward. “You said you know some of his goals in his experiments. Do you know what his goals are for Neurotetraphan?”

Kate frowned. “It doesn’t say so on the information sheet?”

“It does, but I just wasn’t sure if that was all.”

“By law, he’s required to inform his participants of all his intentions regarding the experiment they’re involved in,” Kate told him. “Otherwise it becomes a consent issue and he faces lawsuits.”

“So are you his backup plan?” Derek asked, making it sound like a joke.

Kate snorted a laugh. “I would be if the law let me! Since I’m his daughter, I’d be biased in court, so professionalism forbids me from being his legal representative.”

“If your father has been given approval for running human trials with Neurotetraphan, where can I find the results of his earlier test trials?”

Kate shrugged. “You could try PubMed.”

“Alright,” said Derek. “I’ll try that. Thanks.”

Kate narrowed her eyes. “Why are you so interested in my father’s work anyway? Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine. I was just fascinated in the process is all.”

“Are you sure? Because I know you had some concerns before; that’s why you were at his office when I was there. If there’s something wrong, you really should talk to him about it.”

“It’s really nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Derek managed to divert the conversation away from Gerard Argent and by the time they parted ways, Kate had returned to giving him flirty smiles and winking lecherously at him. Derek made himself a small dinner when he got back to his apartment and then he booted up his laptop and opened up his web browser, searching Dr. Gerard Argent. His university page showed a picture of him smiling and included a list of the courses he taught, his office hours, and his credentials. Kate had been right; Gerard had a PhD in pharmaceutical chemistry, but it had only been his minor while he was acquiring his bachelor’s degree. His major was in quantum physics, which deals with the interactions between matter and energy. The possibility that the changes in Derek and Erica had come about by accident was growing less and less credible.

When morning came, Derek woke up with images of Stiles in his head. The pictures faded fast, but left the thought of him in Derek’s mind. He mulled over his last conversation with Stiles over breakfast and as he went on his morning run. After he was dressed and showered, Derek took out the canvas he’d made earlier in the week and decided to paint it a base colour in greens and browns while he killed some time. California ran a few hours behind New York, so if Derek was going to try to control his jumping, he didn’t want to do it while his other self was sleeping peacefully in bed. While the paint dried, Derek made himself lunch and ate it as he read a book. When 3:00 PM finally rolled around, Derek placed a marker in his book and set it aside. On a whim, he found a piece of paper and scrawled down a quick note to the other Derek and left it on the coffee table while he sat on the couch.

With his hands in his lap, Derek felt a little foolish as he closed his eyes and tried to reach for that strange sensation of vertigo as his reality shifted. It wasn’t difficult to gain a sense of that feeling; there was nothing else quite like it. The closest Derek could come to describing it was that moment of weightlessness as you lean back too far in a chair, or when you dream of falling before you’re asleep and your legs jolt to catch you. But even still, it was a feeling that was wholly its own. Once Derek had a grasp of it, he wasn’t sure what to do with it. Taking a deep breath, Derek imagined wrapping his hands around it and _pulling._

Derek gasped as he fell, but he wasn’t really _falling_ , in fact, when he opened his eyes he found himself to be sitting on the couch in his other self’s house in Berkeley. Derek looked around, wide-eyed with shock and amazement. He hadn’t expected it to actually work. He pulled his cellphone from his pocket and immediately called Stiles.

“Hello?” Stiles mumbled sleepily as he answered.

“I did it,” said Derek.

Stiles sighed. “I don’t even get a ‘good morning?’ Chivalry really is dead.”

“It’s noon. You’ve slept long enough.”

“What if I went to bed at like, 5:00 AM?”

“Then that’s your own fault.”

Derek could hear the sound of Stiles grumbling and the rustling of fabric. He could imagine Stiles sitting up in bed. “Just to clarify: what are you telling me you did?”

“I crossed over voluntarily.”

“Oh okay.” There was a pause. “Wait. _What?_ That’s awesome, man! Really! Listen, I’m going to bring a couple people over in a few hours. I’ve got a friend who’s into all this physics stuff, so hopefully we can get some answers as to why all of this is happening.”

“I’ll see you then.” Derek hung up and settled in for the wait.

 

***

 

It really said something about the turn Derek’s life had taken when he barely batted an eye at finding himself on the couch in an apartment in another universe’s Manhattan. Derek sighed. He’d been in the middle of reading a good book. On the table in front of him, there was a note telling him to call a girl named Erica. Below the phone number written there, the other Derek had told him that she knew and could be trusted. There was no point in wondering what ‘ _she knows_ ’ was referring to. What was more worrying was the message at the bottom of the paper: ‘ _Don’t trust Argent._ ’ Casting his memory back, Derek could vaguely remember the information sheet for the depression medication his other self was taking. The doctor’s name had been Argent. He wondered what had happened in this world since his last visit.

After some hesitation, Derek punched Erica’s number into his cellphone and held it to his ear as it rang on the other line.

A female voice answered, “Hello?”

“Hi,” said Derek stiltedly. “Is this Erica?”

“Derek?” said the woman.

Derek took a deep breath. “I was told to call you... by Derek.”

“So you’re _not_ Derek?”

“Um, not the one you know.” Derek hoped he was doing this right.

He heard Erica gasp sharply. “You’re the one from the other universe!”

Derek winced at how ridiculous it sounded, but he said, “Yes...”

“I’m coming over,” said Erica. “What’s your address?”

Derek found a piece of mail on the kitchen counter and recited it to her.

“I’ll see you soon!” Erica chirped, and then she hung up.

Anxiety thrummed through Derek as he awaited Erica’s arrival. He had no idea what to expect from Erica’s visit. How did the other Derek know her? Was she his girlfriend? Then he remembered Stiles. Apparently Stiles and his other self had some kind of arrangement going on. So how did the other Derek come to trust Erica? Thankfully, Derek didn’t have long to wait. There was a knock on the door twenty minutes after the call ended and as Derek pulled the door open, his eyes widened at the blonde bombshell in front of him. She wore a leather jacket over her corset top and her feet were clad in black, high heeled boots.

“Cute glasses,” Erica said, cherry red lips pulling into a grin.

Derek stepped aside to let Erica in before he held out a hand to her, biting his lip. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Erica took his hand and shook it with a charmed gleam in her eye. “So polite! If you hadn’t already said so, I would have known you were from another universe just from that!”

Derek laughed a little. “That’s what Stiles said too.”

“’ _Stiles_ ’. Is that Derek’s alternate universe boyfriend?” asked Erica.

“Yeah, I met him recently.”

“So he knows about all of this too then?”

“I guess so,” said Derek. “He’s the one who told me what was going on. I mean I knew to an extent what was happening, but none of the details.”

“Very interesting,” said Erica. She walked further into the loft and looked around with curiosity, taking in the art supplies and the prominent smell of paint.

Derek picked up the note he’d left on the coffee table and handed it to Erica. “I was wondering if you could tell me what this is about?”

“How much do you know?” asked Erica after she read it.

“I know that Derek was a test subject for Argent’s clinical trial and now...” Derek gestured at himself.

“I’m another one of Argent’s test subjects,” Erica told him.

Derek’s lips parted with shock. “So this is happening to you too?”

“Sort of. Could you get me a fork?”

Derek frowned with confusion, but he went to the kitchen and did as Erica asked. When he handed the fork to her, Erica scanned the walls until she found an electrical socket. Then she crouched down and stuck the prongs of the fork into the outlet before Derek could stop her.

“What the hell are you doing?!” he shouted with alarm.

Erica looked up at him and shrugged nonchalantly. “See? Nothing. Now watch this.” Erica set down the fork and stood up, reaching over to touch Derek’s hand. There was a spark and a burst of pain where their skin brushed, sending tingles up Derek’s arm.

“Son of a _bitch!_ ” he yelled, waving his hand.

Erica laughed, clapping her hands together with delight. “That was better than anything I could have hoped for. Oh my god, your _face._ ” She wiped away an imaginary tear of mirth. “I’m Erica Reyes, but you can call me Bolt.”

Derek frowned. “ _Who?_ ”

Erica rolled her eyes. “You know, Chris Bradley? _X-Men Unlimited?_ ”

“I’m sorry. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Are you telling me your world doesn’t have comics?”

“We have comics,” said Derek, “but I’ve never heard of _X-Men Unlimited._ ”

“No wonder Derek was so freaked out,” Erica muttered to herself.

“So aside from the obvious, why did Derek want me to call you?”

“He’s being a shit,” said Erica. “Proof that he wasn’t lying that he can go to an alternate universe.”

“Then what now?”

Erica narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean, ‘ _what now_ ’ _?_ ”

“How do we stop it?” Derek asked.

Erica laughed. “I don’t want to stop it! Derek, I’ve had epilepsy since I was a _baby._ I haven’t had a seizure since I got injected. I’m a mechanic and I can’t get electrocuted. I don’t trust Argent a lick, but he gave me a _gift_.”

“I’m happy for you,” said Derek, “but I just want my life back.”

“Look, I haven’t told Derek this yet, but I think I have a couple leads on some more people like us. I don’t want things to go back to the way they were before, but maybe we can find a way to help you.”

“I’d really appreciate it.”

Erica smiled and reached out to ruffle his hair. “We’ll think of something.”

He could only hope that she was right.

 

***

 

Stiles arrived with two people in tow: a slightly shorter man with tanned skin and a puppyish smile and a redheaded woman with sharp, calculative, green eyes. They filed into the living room and took a seat; Derek with Stiles on the couch, and the two newcomers in the armchairs perpendicular to each arm of the couch. The young man sat closest to Stiles while the woman sat near Derek, watching him with skepticism.

“Derek,” said Stiles, “this is Lydia Martin and my best friend, Scott Delgado.”

Scott grinned and waved. “Hey!”

“Lydia’s studying quantum physics at MIT,” Stiles continued.

“Stiles told me you think you’re from another universe,” said Lydia, raising one perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“As far as we can tell, yes,” said Derek. “Assuming it’s even possible.”

“In theory, physicists have suspected that there is at least one parallel universe for a while,” Lydia explained. “The world is all about balance. There is matter and antimatter, attraction and repulsion. In this universe, negatively charged electrons are dominant whereas the cores of atoms are made up of protons and neutrons. Many scientists believe that there is another universe in which the opposite has occurred: positrons orbit negatively charged atomic cores of antiprotons and neutrons.” Derek opened his mouth to speak, but Lydia spoke over him, “Clearly, the world I described is not yours. If you were made up of the antiparticles of this world, you would have combusted upon your arrival.” She smirked with amusement.

Stiles had a look of distaste. “That’s awesome, Lydia. And also extremely unhelpful.”

Lydia gave him an extremely insincere smile. “All in good time, Stilinski.” She fixed her gaze on Derek again. “As I understand it, you’ve been trading places with the iteration of you who lives here, correct?”

“Yes,” said Derek.

“Interesting.” Lydia leaned forward. “It sounds to me like what you’re experiencing is a study in the law of conservation of mass.”

“Matter cannot be created or destroyed, only rearranged in space,” Derek recited from memory.

“Exactly.”

“So it’s like _Indiana Jones_ ,” said Stiles. Lydia stared at him blankly before Stiles rolled his eyes. “There’s an idol on a weight-sensitive platform and as Harrison Ford takes it, he has to replace it with something of the same mass at the same time so that it doesn’t trigger the booby trap.”

“Essentially, yes,” Lydia conceded. “The amount of matter in each universe must remain constant, so for every particle of this Derek that disappears, a particle of the other Derek reappears in its place until they have both switched places entirely. Of course, this process would only take a fraction of a second, if that.”

“So does that mean the two Dereks could never meet?” asked Scott.

“Precisely. If they were both to appear in the same universe at the same time, one of them would likely cancel the other out due to the Pauli Exclusion Principle. They would both be trying to occupy the exact same space.”

Scott sat up straight, looking at Derek excitedly. “Do you think there’s another me in your universe?”

“It’s possible,” said Derek, “but there are differences between my universe and yours. Stiles told me the Twin Towers exist in your universe.” Scott and Lydia nodded. “Well in mine, they were destroyed thirteen years ago.”

“Holy shit...” Scott whispered.

“I see,” said Lydia, cocking her head.

Derek turned to Scott. “So what’s your purpose here?”

Scott grinned sheepishly. “Stiles is always talking about you, so I wanted to meet the guy. Ow!” Stiles punched him in the arm, cheeks reddening. Derek narrowed his eyes at Stiles, who raised his hands defensively.

“Scotty and I don’t do secrets. Sorry, but if I was letting Lydia in on this one, there was no way I was keeping Scott out of it,” he said. Stiles and Scott exchanged a fist bump.

Derek scoffed. “How old are you again?”

“Twenty-two. How old are you, grandpa?” asked Stiles.

Derek gave him the middle finger.

Lydia looked between the two of them and abruptly stood, brushing the front of her skirt. “Anyway, I have a manicure appointment. Scott, you’re coming with me.”

“Why do _I_ have to come with you?” Scott complained, but as Lydia’s eyes hardened, he scrambled to his feet. “I’ll see you guys later. It was nice meeting you, Derek.”

“I’ll see if I can find out more about your situation,” said Lydia. “Let me know if you get any updates from your world.”

“Thanks,” said Derek, and then it was just him and Stiles.

Stiles gave him a small smile. “I hope it’s okay if I decide to stick around for a while?”

“I don’t mind,” said Derek.

“Good! Because I was thinking maybe we could go out for Italian. I’ve had this wicked craving for spaghetti and meatballs lately.”

Derek shook his head in disbelief. “I just don’t get it,” he said.

“Yeah, I know. Lydia’s physics can be a little overwhelming even for me, and I was her greatest competition for valedictorian in high school. But don’t let that get in the way of your appetite.”

“Not that,” said Derek. “I mean _you_. I’m from another _universe._ After what I’ve put you through... you still want to be with me?”

Stiles’ lips parted and he licked them without thinking before dropping his gaze to the floor. “Well, _yeah.._. I like you.”

The words hit Derek like a punch to the stomach and, on impulse, he tilted his head and leaned toward Stiles until their faces were inches apart. He heard a breath hitch in Stiles’ throat and he hovered there, waiting until Stiles nodded before he kissed Stiles chastely. Stiles remained still for the short duration and when Derek pulled back, Stiles was staring at him with wide eyes. Something cracked then and Stiles pushed into Derek’s space, fitting their lips together once more as if he was making sure he still had permission to do this. The kiss was longer than Derek’s, more impassioned with Stiles’ hand cupping his jaw, but it was closed-mouthed. It was unlike any first kiss Derek had shared before, but perfect in its simplicity. By the time they parted, Stiles was grinning widely.

“If I’d known that’s how you’d react to it, I would have told you I like you ages ago.” 

Derek rolled his eyes, trying not to smile. “Shut up. Let’s go get some Italian.”

Stiles fist pumped. “ _Yes!_ ”

“You’re such a child.”

“Yeah, but I’m _your_ child.” Stiles froze, making a face. “Wait. That came out really wrong.”

“ _Stiles._ ”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!”

 

They took Stiles’ powder blue jeep to the restaurant he had in mind. The place was called _Itala’s_ , and as they entered the building, it struck Derek that it reminded him of East Side Mario’s. The tone in the restaurant was informal, but still promised a decent quality meal. Stiles, looking all too pleased with himself, ordered spaghetti while Derek asked for the bacon carbonara. They made small talk completely unrelated to Derek’s situation as they waited for the food to arrive and it was nice. It was nicer still knowing that Derek didn’t have to keep secrets from Stiles anymore. When dinner was served, Stiles practically moaned as he took his first bite of spaghetti.

“Derek, you have to try this,” he said. “Or you know what? Since apparently kissing is a thing we do now, we should totally re-enact that scene from _Lady and the Tramp._ ”

“No, Stiles,” said Derek.

“It’s _iconic!_ ”

“No.”

“You’re no fun,” Stiles whined. Derek smirked to himself triumphantly, taking a bite of his carbonara. There was a pleasant lull in the conversation as they ate. “You know,” Stiles said after a while, “My mom used to make the best spaghetti in the whole world. Way better than this stuff. It was kind of funny, actually; she’s Polish, but my favourite when I was a kid was always her spaghetti.

“I think I was seven years old when I first started to notice that she was acting different. People always assume she had cancer when I tell them that she died, but that wasn’t it. She had frontotemporal dementia. I honestly wish it had been cancer. Instead, I had to watch her twist into this completely different person, and by the time she died I couldn’t even recognize her anymore. That was the hardest part for me and my dad.

“I used to wonder who had it worse: me or Scotty. His dad left when he was eight. He’s an FBI agent and he had a drinking problem. This one time he got in a fight with Scott’s mom when he was drunk and he accidentally hurt Scott. Melissa told him to get out and he just up and left; didn’t come back. A few months later, he filed for a divorce. Scott’s last name used to be McCall, but he had it legally changed to his mom’s maiden name when he turned eighteen. She cried.

“Anyway, eventually I figured out that there’s no way to quantify loss, whether someone’s taken from you or they choose to leave.”

There was an opening waiting to be filled. Derek swallowed hard. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk about this yet.”

“That’s okay,” Stiles said to him. “We’ve talked a lot about your personal business lately—stuff you probably haven’t told a lot of people in your world, if anyone—so I figured it was only fair if I told you some things I wouldn’t normally tell people.”

“You didn’t have to,” said Derek.

“I know,” said Stiles, “but I wanted to.”

Derek bit his lip and nodded.

After dinner, Stiles paid the bill and drove Derek back to his other self’s house, walking him to the door.

“You know, we really have to come up with a better name for him than ‘your other self’,” said Stiles. “How about Hale?”

Derek shrugged. “You’ll have to ask him.”

“Okay, but from now on I’m still calling him Hale when I refer to him.”

“I won’t stop him when he tries to gag you.”

“He’d never gag me,” said Stiles. “He’s way too polite.”

“You met him?”

“Yeah.” Stiles shrugged. “Turns out he hates your life even more than you do.” Derek punched him in the arm, but Stiles just laughed.

“Thanks for today,” said Derek. “For getting your friends to help me and for dinner.”

Stiles smiled. “Well, I’d be lying if I said this isn’t the most interesting thing that’s ever happened to me in my entire life.”

“So you find this entertaining?”

“Hell yeah, I do. I could microwave some popcorn and watch this on Netflix.”

“You’re an ass.”

“You love my ass.” Stiles leaned in to press a lingering kiss to Derek’s mouth.

“Keep this up and you’re going to get bored pretty quick when I don’t put out,” Derek said against his lips.

Stiles grinned. “I could never get bored of this. I love kissing.” As if to prove his point, he kissed Derek once more. He smirked as he stepped away. “Call me when you drop by again?”

“Goodnight, Stiles.”

“Hasta la pasta.”

Derek smiled with amusement after Stiles as he drove away in his jeep, then stepped back inside his other self’s house. Closing his eyes, he tried to replicate his actions from earlier this morning, recalling the feeling of the world twisting beneath his body. The ground dropped from beneath Derek’s feet and when he opened his eyes again, he was standing in his loft in Manhattan.


	5. The Same Coin

The smell of acrylic permeated Derek’s loft and his hands were stained with natural colours, soft with the oils that had soaked in his skin and the pads of his fingertips. Strategically placed streaks of green, brown, blue, and violet added layers to the base Derek had painted earlier this week, turning the muddy background into a forest. As he worked, classic rock played over the radio, filling Derek’s apartment with the sound of Roger Daltrey’s voice.

When Derek was satisfied with the work he’d done today, he set the easel aside to let the painting dry and washed his hands before calling Cora.

She picked up after two rings, saying, “Hey, Derek.”

“Cora,” Derek greeted. “How are you?”

“Exhausted,” said Cora. “Not that it’s been a bad experience, being out here in Colombia; but I’m glad my term here is almost up.”

Derek pressed his lips together and when he spoke again, his words were awkward and stilted. “You know, if it’s too hard to... to go back there, there’s a spare bedroom in my loft. You’re welcome to stay here. With me. If you want to.”

There was silence on Cora’s end. Before she left for Colombia for her research trip, she had still been living with Laura. Cora stayed at Derek’s apartment with him for the two months she was home after Laura died, but she had excused her presence by saying that Derek needed him. For all Cora harangued Derek about his grieving methods, he privately thought that Cora’s were worse: she had none. She left Manhattan as soon as she was sure Derek wasn’t a danger to himself and he hadn’t seen Cora cry since the night after Laura’s funeral, when they buried her in Beacon Hills with the rest of their family.

Finally, in a quiet voice, Cora said, “We’ll see.”

“I’ll make sure to get those Vietnamese sandwiches you love so much,” Derek promised her.

“I’ll never forgive you if you don’t.” And before Derek could say another word about it, Cora asked, “Any new paintings?”

“I’m working on one now,” said Derek. “The paint is drying as we speak.”

“What’s this one going to be?”

“I’ll send a picture when it’s finished.”

“You better. So how are things going with that girl you didn’t ask out?”

Derek felt a sudden rush of protectiveness for Erica. “She’s doing fine. I’m actually going to be seeing her again soon.”

“Are you sure you’re not dating her?”

“Positive.”

There was a pause on Cora’s end. “Are you seeing someone else?” Derek hesitated just a little too long. “Oh my god. You _are!_ Who is it?”

“We’ve only been on two dates,” Derek told her. “We haven’t really labelled ourselves yet.”

“Have you fucked?”

“ _No._ And even if we had, my sex life is none of your business.”

“That’s because you don’t have a sex life.”

“Even better.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having sex.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you so against it?”

“I’m not.”

“Then what’s your _problem?_ ” Cora blurted out. She sighed. “I’m just worried about you, Derek. You never talk about seeing friends or going out or doing _anything._ Are you punishing yourself for something?”

“No,” Derek said softly. “I just... hadn’t found anyone until now.”

“What’s she like?”

“ _He_ is a little obnoxious, but smart as all hell. Witty. I think you’d like him after you get past the desire to punch him in the face.”

Cora laughed a little. “I never took you for the type to go after _obnoxious_.”

“Neither did I,” Derek admitted.

“I’m happy for you,” said Cora.

“Thanks.”

They talked for a while longer before wrapping up the call, and then Derek checked his phone for notifications. There was a text waiting for him from Erica, asking if he was ready to go. Derek sent back an affirmative reply. Today was the one month post-injection check up with Gerard Argent. When Derek arrived home from the alternate universe a few days ago, he found a note waiting for him from his other self, telling him that Erica was following a few leads on other people like them. Derek had called Erica the next morning to ask about it, but she told him that she didn’t want to give him any names until she was sure that she wasn’t chasing ghosts.

Derek located his keys and drove over to Erica’s apartment, idling in front of the building as he extracted his phone from his pocket to shoot her a text letting her know that he was here. Minutes later, she was emerging from the complex with a red-lipped grin on her face. Derek reached over the console and opened the passenger door for her.

“What a gentleman!” Erica said as she dropped into the seat, leather creaking beneath her.

Derek rolled his eyes. “It’s called common courtesy. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”

Erica barked a laugh. “Come on, we’d better head over to NYU before the old geezer busts a nut.”

Derek made a face at the imagery and started driving.

After a few minutes, Erica said, “So I’ve narrowed my search down to two people, and I’m about ninety percent sure I know the identity of one of them.”

“How are you finding them anyway?” asked Derek. “It’s not like we have a Facebook group.” Derek paused, drawing his eyebrows together. “ _Do we?_ ”

Erica laughed. “I wish! It would make my life a hell of a lot easier. I’ve been hoarding newspapers and tracking some local news websites, basically looking for any weird stories possible. I also started frequenting some support groups for people with depression—hey, don’t look at me like that! I’m no Marla Singer; it’s not like I have to fake it! Anyway, the news has been a bust, but there’s this kid at one of the support groups who I really think has something, and I recognize him from Argent’s lab!”

“What did he do?”

“They always have coffee at this group and it’s always searing fucking hot. The first time I went, I took a sip right away and I swear I almost scalded my lips off,” Erica told him. “And it’s _always_ like that. But then this guy, Isaac, goes to drink it and he’s just fine! Then when I went to talk to him, his hand was weirdly warm when I shook it.”

The look Derek gave her was deeply unimpressed. “He probably just has a high pain tolerance and his hand was warm because he was holding a hot cup of coffee.”

“It wasn’t the hand he was holding his coffee with. But anyway, that’s not all. This older guy went over to introduce himself to Isaac and the kid got this look on his face like he was about to get slapped. Just really tense, you know? Then they go to shake hands and the older man yanks his hand back like he’s been burned! The kid muttered some apology and threw away the rest of his coffee and when I hung around after the meeting, I looked through the trash and found a cup full of solid ice!”

Derek pressed his lips together, frowning skeptically. “I don’t know, Erica,” he said. “This sounds pretty—”

“Unbelievable?” Her eyebrows climbed up her forehead. “You mean like surviving being electrocuted by a power line or jumping into an _alternate universe?_ ”

Derek sighed. “Well when you put it like _that_...”

“Exactly,” Erica said with satisfaction.

“So what now then? What are you planning to do about this Isaac kid?”

“Talk to him, I guess.” Erica shrugged. “Tell him that he’s not alone.”

“And what about this other lead of yours?”

“That one is harder to quantify.”

“How do you mean?”

“It’s subtle,” said Erica. “There’s this group in Brooklyn that I go to on Wednesdays and I don’t really know how to explain it. It’s like there’s this undercurrent to the whole session; I don’t really feel myself. Like I feel a certain way while I’m there, but then as soon as I leave everything’s back to normal again.”

“Is it like a physical feeling?”

“No, it’s emotional. I feel so _alone_ but at the same time it’s like I’m resigned to it, like I’ve accepted that this is just the way I’ll always be. And it’s not just me! Everyone in the group has this look on their faces like they’ve completely lost hope. It’s _awful._ It reminds me of how I used to be.”

“And there’s no way of pinpointing where it’s coming from?” asked Derek.

Erica shook her head. “It’s just _bizarre._ ”

“I don’t suppose you recognize anyone in the group from Dr. Argent’s lab either?”

“Not from any of the appointments I’ve been to, but I know ours isn’t the only group.”

Derek sighed, gripping the wheel tightly in his hands. “This isn’t an accident, is it?” he said bleakly.

“No,” said Erica, “it isn’t.”

Derek parked the Camaro in the guest parking lot at NYU and headed to the biology labs with Erica. A waiting area had been set up in the hallway outside of Argent’s office, chairs lined along the walls. A handful of people were already there. A rush of nerves swept over Derek and he took a seat, trading wary glances with a similarly-affected Erica. He clenched his hands into fists and glared at the floor. A hand touched his and Derek flinched before he looked up to meet Erica’s eyes. He opened his hand and laced their fingers together, giving Erica’s hand a gentle squeeze, but it did nothing to calm them. Glancing around, Derek saw that the other participants were visibly anxious too, biting their lips, fidgeting, and legs bouncing. Arms crossed and heads low to avoid making eye-contact. How could Gerard Argent make such an impression on all of these people?

One by one, they were called into Gerard’s office and the anxiety running through Derek grew thicker, like the blood in his veins had been replaced with molasses. Erica’s hand was gripping his so tightly his fingertips were turning a bruised purple. When it became too painful, Derek flexed his hand to catch her attention and Erica frowned at him apologetically before loosening her grip. A young, dark-skinned man stepped into Gerard’s office now and Derek could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He looked down at his free hand and began counting his fingers, thinking of Stiles, but it did nothing to alleviate his fears. He was called after the black man and Erica let his hand slip out of hers as he stood. He felt calmer already. As he crossed paths with the patient before him, their eyes met and Derek felt a touch of apprehension as the man tipped his head toward Derek in a small greeting. The buzzing in Derek’s head eased as the man walked farther away down the hall, leaving Derek confused and more than a little unsettled.

“Mr. Hale?”

Derek blinked. Gerard was standing by the open door of his office, watching him expectantly.

“Sorry,” Derek mumbled and he entered the office, closing the door behind him. Argent went through his routine of checking over Derek’s vital signs; listening to his heart and taking his blood pressure. He tied a band around Derek’s bicep and took a blood for sampling, explaining that he’d give Derek a call if there was any cause for concern.

“So how are you feeling, Derek?” asked Gerard. “Any headaches or increased appetite?”

“No,” said Derek, and this time he was being honest. “My body must have gotten used to the drug.”

The corner of Gerard’s mouth lifted. “Indeed. And are you experiencing any more lucid dreams?”

“No, I’m firmly anchored in reality now.”

“And how is reality for you, Derek?” Gerard leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap.

“Different,” said Derek, “but better. I’ve been going out more.”

“Well I am certainly glad to hear that.” Gerard smiled. He turned to his desk and retrieved a form, handing it together. “Now if you’re interested, you can receive a second dose of Neurotetraphan next week on Thursday or Friday. This will just be to see how the drug continues to respond over a longer period of time; to make sure that the body doesn’t build an immunity to it and such. You aren’t obligated by any means, but it would be greatly appreciated.”

Derek took the paper from Gerard. “Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

Looking pleased, Gerard held out his hand. “Then I hope to see you next week.”

Derek shook his hand politely before letting himself out of the office. Erica was called next and they shared a grimace before she headed into the office and Derek took a seat to wait for her.

Later, as they got into Derek’s Camaro, he asked Erica, “Does Argent scare you?”

Erica snorted. “No. I wouldn’t trust the guy as far as I can throw him, but I don’t think he’s a serial killer.”

“I agree,” said Derek. He started the car and pulled onto the road. “I think we just found your Brooklyn guy.”

“Yeah,” said Erica. “It was definitely the same kind of feeling. And _everyone_ was keyed up; not just us.”

“Did you catch the name of the guy who went before me? Tall, black, a bit younger.”

Erica chewed her lip for a moment in thought. “Vernon Boyd.”

“Vernon Boyd...” Derek repeated to himself. “That’s our projector.”

They devised a plan: Erica would ask Boyd and that Isaac kid out for coffee and she and Derek would each meet with them individually so that they wouldn’t be overwhelmed. After a bout of bitter arguing, they settled on Derek’s apartment as their centre of operations since there was more space. When Derek pulled up outside of Erica’s apartment complex, she kissed his cheek and thanked him before getting out of the vehicle, leaving Derek alone with his thoughts.

Derek found himself thinking about what Stiles’ friend, Scott, had said the other day. He’d asked if there could be another incarnation of him in Derek’s world. Derek doubted it would be an easy task to pick out the correct Scott Delgado out of however many there were online, but surely there couldn’t be many Stiles Stilinskis. Derek pressed his lips together as he walked up to his loft. He went to his laptop immediately and booted it up, searching ‘ _Stiles Stilinski_ ’ as he opened a browser.

Nothing. There were articles and social media profiles pertaining to other Stilinskis, but there was no Stiles. Derek chewed his lip. He knew that ‘Stiles’ was a nickname; perhaps the Stiles in this world never renounced his given name. It didn’t mean anything. Not yet.

Derek turned off his laptop and stormed over to his canvas, gritting his teeth as he painted.

 

The next day, Derek jumped to Berkeley. The sun was shining brightly and the first thing Derek did was call Stiles.

“Let’s do something different today,” said Stiles. “No talk of alternate universes or mad scientists. Let’s just do something for us.”

It sounded perfect to Derek. He told Stiles so.

“By the way, how are your shoes for walking?”

Derek looked down, shuffling his feet a little. “No complaints. I wouldn’t wear them for going on a run, but they’re comfortable.”

“Okay, good. I’m picking you up.”

With his curiosity piqued, Derek asked, “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Derek reclined on the couch as he waited. This was exactly what he needed; a distraction from all of the stress that was building up. He didn’t want to think about whether or not he would take the second dose of Neurotetraphan. He didn’t want to think about what it meant that he, Erica, Isaac, and that man from the lab were being experimented on with a drug unlike the one they’d been promised. He didn’t want to think about the legal battle that would ensue if he went public with his accusations, and how people would treat him.

There was the rumbling of an old engine and Derek stood from the couch, peeking out the door window to see Stiles’ jeep idling in the driveway. Grabbing the other Derek’s keys, he exited the house and locked the door behind him before hurrying over to the passenger side of the jeep. Stiles grinned at him as he got in the vehicle.

“Hey,” said Stiles.

“Hey,” said Derek.

Stiles chewed his lip, then leaned in impulsively to peck Derek on the lips. “I missed you.”

Derek fought a smile. “I missed you too.”

Stiles pressed his lips together excitedly and said, “Let’s go,” before he put his jeep into reverse and backed out onto the road. The drive was mostly silent as Stiles insisted that their destination was a surprise, so Derek examined Stiles to see if what he was wearing gave any clues. He couldn’t see what Stiles was wearing on his feet from this angle, but the material of his t-shirt looked thin and soft and his jeans were loose around the legs, offering freedom of movement. They left the city limits of Berkeley and entered Oakland, houses disappearing and giving way to nature as a forest sprawled next to the road. Soon enough, Stiles pulled over on the side of the road and parked the jeep. When he got out of the car, Stiles spread his arms wide. “Welcome to Claremont Canyon Regional Preserve.”

Derek’s lips parted as he stared at the woods behind Stiles, coming to stand next to him. As he inhaled, his nostrils were filled with the thick scents of loam, decaying plant matter, and wildflowers. It smelled like home. Not like the streets of New York, choked with exhaust fumes and fast-food; but summers spent building tepees and tree forts, playing manhunt and laughing as he ran like the wind from his siblings and cousins. It smelled like Beacon Hills.

Derek swallowed hard, filled with a sharp yearning. “Can we go in?”

“Yeah, of course,” said Stiles. “I wouldn’t bring you here just so you could look at it, dumbass.” He patted Derek’s arm and crossed the road, heading toward the path.

Derek hurried after Stiles and soon they were surrounded by trees, wildlife chattering around them. Beneath the shade of the canopy, the air was cooler. The path was surrounded by undergrowth, leafy greens and blossoms flourishing in their natural environment. As they walked, Derek pointed out some of the more familiar plants and fungi, explaining which ones were edible and which were poisonous as Stiles listened intently.

Derek was just telling Stiles how bleeding hearts could be used as a narcotic-analgesic and to treat central nervous disorders when Stiles asked, “How do you know all of this stuff? I thought you were an artist.”

Derek smiled wistfully. “I grew up on a nature preserve in Beacon Hills with my family. My mother taught us all about the wildlife there; it was her attempt at damage control since we were always camping out and trying to live off the land as kids. I’m actually surprised I remember as much as I do.”

Stiles looked slightly guilty. “I knew you lived on a preserve. That’s why I brought you here; Hale told me.”

Derek carefully kept his tone neutral. “You hang out with him a lot?”

“Not really,” Stiles admitted. “I went to see him after you were last here so I could tell him how things went with Scott and Lydia, and I guess we just got talking.”

“Do you like him?”

“Well yeah, he’s a nice guy. Sweet even, when he’s not so anxious.”

“Maybe...” Derek chewed his lip, staring at his feet as he walked. “Maybe you should be doing this with him instead.”

“Walking in the woods with him?”

“Dating him.”

Stiles stopped in the middle of the path. “Are you breaking up with me?” Derek turned around. Stiles’ jaw was clenched and his face was very blank.

“No,” said Derek, “but I should.”

Stiles’ hands curled into fists and Derek wondered how likely he was to get punched. “Is this about you being from another universe?”

“Partly, yes. A _large_ part.”

“I don’t care,” said Stiles. “I want to be with you.”

“He _is_ me.”

“He looks like you and he has some of the same memories as you, but he’s not you,” Stiles argued. “Not in all the ways that count.”

“He’s _better_.”

Stiles threw his hands in the air with frustration. “You don’t even know him!”

“And you barely know _me!_ ”

“Then tell me more.”

“I’m damaged, Stiles. He isn’t. What more do you need to know?”

“Derek—”

“I’m trying to find you!” Derek blurted out.

Stiles blinked. “What?”

“In my universe,” said Derek, “I’m trying to find you. I looked up ‘Stiles Stilinski’ online but I couldn’t find anything. Maybe he still uses his given name.”

Stiles looked away, swallowing before meeting Derek’s eyes again. “And what if you find him? What then? Were you just going to break up with me so you could be with him?”

“I don’t know.” Derek shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t think that far ahead.”

Stiles moved into Derek’s space. “And what if he was undamaged, huh? What if his mother never died and he never had to watch her slowly go insane? Would you want him instead of me?”

Derek shook his head, whispering, “No.”

“And I don’t want this world’s Derek instead of you.” Stiles put his hands on Derek’s arms. “You’re the one I met first, and Hale? He’s a sweet guy, but he doesn’t get to me like you do. You see, all the shit you’ve been through is what makes you who you are, and I happen to be quite fond of that person.” He brushed a stray leaf from Derek’s hair.

“This is why we should end it now,” Derek said. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know if I’ll be able to jump like this forever or if it’s just temporary; but what I do know is that the more attached we are to each other, the more it’s going to hurt if I can’t stay. I don’t want you to become someone else for me to lose.”

“By that logic, why make an effort to find the other me at all? Why try to connect with _anybody?_ ” Stiles snapped. “After all, everyone is someone you could potentially lose. People die or move away and don’t keep in touch. Maybe you should stop talking to your sister because you could lose her too.”

Derek grabbed Stiles’ wrists and jerked away from his touch. “That’s not fair. This is completely different and you know it.”

“Is it though? Because it seems to me like it all boils down to the same thing: you’re afraid.”

“And you’re not?”

“Oh, I’m fucking _terrified_ ,” Stiles said. “The difference is that I don’t let it control me.”

Derek glared at Stiles for a long moment before dropping his hands and stepping back. He turned away and started walking down the trail again.

“It’s Przemysław, by the way,” Stiles called after him.

Derek stopped again and twisted around to frown at him. “What?”

“My birth name. It’s Przemysław.”

Derek sighed, seething with irritation. Without hesitation, he marched over and grabbed Stiles by the ears, kissing him roughly on the mouth. Stiles made a soft, pleased sound and wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck to keep him in place. Derek’s lips parted with shock as Stiles nipped his lower one, hard, and Stiles took the opportunity to flick his tongue over the backs of Derek’s teeth. Derek was almost panting by the time Stiles finally released him, licking his lips smugly as he smirked at Derek.

“You’re a fucking menace,” Derek said.

“I know. It keeps me awake at night,” said Stiles. He took Derek’s hand and continued walking.

Derek shook his head. “When I was eight years old, I told my mother that I was moving out and I was going to live in the woods,” he told Stiles, and Stiles listened, enraptured, as Derek told him all about the story of a little boy trying to make it on his own.

 

Back in Manhattan, Derek didn’t try searching for his world’s Stiles again. Erica set up the coffee dates with Isaac and the man from the clinic, who she learned was named Boyd. Erica said that she would handle Boyd and she told Derek where and when to find Isaac.

When Derek entered the coffee shop, he carefully scanned the other people in line with him. None of them fit Erica’s description of Isaac. Derek ordered his tea, then stood apart to search the tables. At first Derek thought Isaac was a no show, but then he caught sight of a young man with blond curls hunched over at a table in the corner, tapping his coffee cup nervously. Derek watched him until the man glanced up. As their eyes met, the young man’s went wide and round and he froze, poised to run away. Derek thought of the stories he and Stiles had told each other in Berkeley and let himself smile reassuringly. Some of the tension left the man and Derek approached slowly. When he reached the table, he sat down across from the man to bring them to the same level and he realized that his companion was taller than him.

“Hi,” said Derek. “Are you Isaac?”

Swallowing, the man nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“My name is Derek. I’m a friend of Erica’s.”

Isaac frowned. “Where is she then?”

“She couldn’t make it,” said Derek. “She’s talking to someone else like us right now.”

“Define ‘like us’.”

Derek sipped his tea and leaned forward, lowering his voice. “You’re in Dr. Argent’s Neurotetraphan trial, right? So am I, as well as Erica and the person she’s talking to.”

“Um.”

“Have you noticed anything strange about yourself after you were injected?” Derek pressed on. “Have you noticed weird things around you that you just can’t explain?”

Isaac stared at Derek. He didn’t answer.

Derek continued. “I have. So has Erica. She hasn’t had an epileptic seizure all month and she survived touching a live power line. I’ve been... going places.”

“Is this the part where you tell me I’m a wizard and offer me a place at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry?” said Isaac dryly.

“No,” said Derek. “Erica just wants to bring us together. I’m just the first she found.”

“And how exactly did she find you?”

“I told her some things when we were at a check-up. I thought they were pretty innocuous, but she saw them for what they were.”

“And...” Isaac chewed his lip. “How did she find me?”

“The coffee at the support group you go to,” Derek told him. “She found the cup full of ice. What exactly is it that you do?”

Isaac moved his mug between them on the table and put the tip of his finger in the coffee. It promptly stopped steaming and as Isaac drew his hand away, the coffee solidified into ice. “One touch takes heat away,” he explained. He tapped the ice on top of the drink and it melted rapidly, beginning to steam. “The second touch dispels the heat I stored.”

Derek stared at the mug of coffee with awe. “That’s _amazing_.”

Looking a little smug, Isaac picked up the mug and took a drink from it. “And how about you; what do you do?”

“I travel to an alternate universe and trade places with that world’s incarnation of me.” Isaac bristled, opening his mouth and Derek added, “Erica didn’t believe me at first either, but then she met him; the other me.”

“What’s it like over there?” Isaac asked.

Derek could tell that he still wasn’t convinced, but he said, “It’s different in some ways and in other ways it’s exactly the same.”

“So what now?”

Derek reached for a wallet and took out his business card for his art, sliding it across the table to Isaac. “We’re meeting at my apartment tomorrow around two. Come if you want, or don’t. It’s up to you.” Derek stood, finishing off his tea, then he looked at Isaac. “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

Isaac’s lips parted and Derek left him. Isaac could decide for himself where to go from here. Derek wondered how Erica’s chat with Boyd went, or if it was still going on. He guessed he would find out tomorrow.

 

At quarter after two the next day, there was a knock on Derek’s door. When he answered it, he found Isaac standing in the hallway with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Isaac rocked back and forth on his heels, eyes only briefly meeting Derek’s.

“Hey,” he mumbled.

“Hi,” said Derek.

Isaac leaned to the side, peeking around Derek to eye the inside of his loft. “Nice place.”

“Oh.” Derek stood aside to let Isaac in, then closed the door behind him. Isaac sat on the couch stiffly and Derek poured a glass of water for him, setting it on the coffee table. Derek took a seat on the cushion farthest from Isaac and stared down at his hands, wondering what the hell he was doing.

Isaac cleared his throat. “I’m taking it you don’t have guests often?”

“No,” said Derek.

“So just to be clear about this, you’re just as weirded out here as I am?”

“Probably.”

Isaac sighed.

Derek tapped his thumb on his knee and all but collapsed with relief as another knock came at the door. He was surprised to see Erica and the dark-skinned man from the university standing together.

“Derek,” said Erica, “this is Boyd.”

“Derek Hale.” He held out his hand and the other man shook it firmly.

“Just Boyd.”

Derek invited them in and they joined Isaac on the couch with Erica in the middle. Watching them, it occurred to Derek that he needed another chair in his apartment. He grabbed a soda from the fridge for Erica and Boyd , like Isaac, simply requested water when Derek offered. He stood on the opposite side of the coffee table from them and crossed his arms, frowning at Boyd.

“I didn’t realize you were with Erica when you were at the door,” he said.

Boyd raised an eyebrow.

“You have a very distinctive aura.”

Boyd had the grace to look a little sheepish then. “It’s not usually that bad. Most of the time I can rein it in, but with stronger emotions...” He shrugged. “So you’re Coraline?”

“Actually, my sister is,” said Derek.

Boyd gave Erica a look like a silent plea for help.

“It’s a reference,” she remarked.

“I know,” said Derek.

There was a beat of silence and Boyd said, “Man, I hope the other you is a better conversationalist. When can we meet him?”

Leaning forward, Isaac said, “I second that motion.”

“He’s not this bad all the time,” Erica protested. “He has a boyfriend.”

“One hundred percent, it’s a physical relationship,” said Boyd.

Derek narrowed his eyes. “Sure. How about I show you just how physical I can be... with my _fist?_ ”

Boyd snorted a laugh and Derek bit down on the corners of his mouth to keep from smirking as he felt an alien flash of amusement.

Derek scowled, turning to Erica. “Can you please explain to me what brings us together today?”

In a nasally voice, Isaac intoned, “ _Mawwiage_.”

Erica and Boyd burst out laughing, forcing a chuckle from Derek against his will. As the amusement faded, Derek’s irritation flared and he shot Boyd a dark look. Boyd shrugged and raised his hands in surrender.

When Erica calmed down, she said, “Well we’re all in the same boat, so I figured we should work together to learn how to control our abilities.”

“What about Argent?” said Derek.

“What about him?” asked Erica.

“If we’re right and the depression treatment is just a cover, then this experiment is highly illegal. And what about the next dosage?”

Erica shrugged. “I’m doing it.”

“You have no idea what the long-term effects of this drug could do to you!” Derek snapped.

“This drug gave me a gift,” Erica cried. “All my life I’ve had seizures and now I haven’t had a single one this last month. I went off my medication two weeks ago and I’ve never felt better!”

Derek looked to Isaac and Boyd for support.

“It makes me feel safer,” Isaac said quietly, looking down. “I’m getting the next dose too.”

“I always had a hard time expressing myself,” Boyd said. “Now everyone knows how I’m feeling. I’d like to know how to control it. You can count me in.”

The three of them smiled at each other in solidarity before looking to Derek.

“So what are you going to do?” Erica asked him.

Fear and yearning and loneliness warred in Derek’s chest. Already Erica, Isaac, and Boyd were a unified force; what use could he possibly be to them? “I don’t know,” he confessed.

The other three accepted his answer silently and began to converse, getting to know each other. Derek only half listened, the other half of his thoughts dedicated to his dilemma. He didn’t know if the jumping would stop without the Neurotetraphan, and he didn’t know if he wanted it to. He wanted his life to go back to normal, but he didn’t want to stop seeing Stiles.

Abruptly, Derek said, “I’m going away for a few days.”

Erica blinked in surprise. “Where are you going?”

Derek took a deep breath, turning to look at one of the picture frames on his bookshelf. “Beacon Hills.”

 

The road stretched open and infinite before Derek, laying out a network of endless opportunities. For the first time, he thought he truly understood why the Camaro had been so important to Laura. After finding out what was happening to him, Derek had researched a number of alternate universe theories, one of which was the many-worlds interpretation of quantum physics. The theory stated that every time a person makes a choice, another universe branches off in which a different choice is made, leading to the creation of an infinite number of parallel universes, like a metaphysical approach to Schrodinger’s cat. He wondered if in another universe, he just decided to leave everything behind and was now driving to Canada or Mexico.

Driving on his own afforded a certain type of freedom, and Derek felt himself relaxing more and more as the Camaro ate up the miles, leaving dust and cracked pavement in its wake. He stopped only to eat, fill the tank with gas, or piss until night fell and he was forced to pull into a roadside motel to catch some shuteye. When morning came, he ate breakfast and was back on the road. By the third night, Derek felt a buzzing in his skull that refused to go away and he pulled out a piece of motel stationery to write a note before he went to sleep. Derek wasn’t surprised to wake up in a bed without creaking springs in a room that didn’t stink of cigarettes.

He got up and went downstairs to the kitchen, making himself some breakfast, and then he changed into shorts and a t-shirt before slipping on a pair of his other self’s shoes and going for a run. By the time Derek was back and had finished changing into fresh clothes after his shower, he deemed it was a decent enough time to call Stiles. He found the other Derek’s phone on his nightstand upstairs and quickly found Stiles’ contact.

“Sup, Hale?” asked Stiles as he answered.

“Derek, actually.”

“Derek? Why are you using Hale’s phone?” asked Stiles.

“I jumped in my sleep,” Derek confessed.

“You left it that long?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Okay. So do you want me to come over with Scott and Lydia?”

“No,” Derek told him. “Why don’t we keep today just for us?”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He heard a smile in Stiles’ voice. “I missed you.”

Derek couldn’t help the smile that touched his own lips in response. “I missed you too.”

“I’ll be over soon.”

Derek desperately hoped it wouldn’t be for the last time.

 

***

 

The first thing Derek noticed when he woke up was the smell of cigarettes. He groaned and sat up, the mattress beneath him squealing in protest as his weight redistributed. He was in a dingy motel room with singed carpeting and dark green curtains. On the floor next to the bed was a duffel bag and on the nightstand was a note.

‘ _You’re in Nevada. I’m going to Beacon Hills. – Derek_ ’

Derek let out a long sigh. His glasses were back in Berkeley and while technically his driver’s license allowed him to drive without them, it made him anxious. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and got up, sending a series of pops up and down his joints as he raised his arms above his head to stretch.

When he left the motel, Derek didn’t know exactly where he was, but he knew he had to drive west. With the sun still climbing in the sky, it wasn’t difficult to deduce which way he was traveling down the highway. He had to press the button on his key fob multiple times before he tracked down the other Derek’s car. It was a sleek, black model similar to a few back in his own universe, but different enough to stand out. It was the kind of car Laura would love. Derek drove for most of the morning and pulled over at a gas station around noon to fill up and eat lunch at the diner across the parking lot. Music both familiar and unfamiliar played over the radio; he wondered how much was due to his own ignorance and how much could be attributed to different artists across their worlds.

Back on the road, Derek’s nerves climbed higher and higher as he grew closer to Beacon Hills, making his heart flutter as he crossed the state border. He was afraid to see how much was different from his own world. The idea of not seeing his parents twisted his insides and for a moment he felt a wave of grief for his other self. How awful it must have been to lose his family. The Hales and Tates had always been close-knit; Derek couldn’t imagine living without that network of support. As he drove through Redding, he wondered if Jordan Parrish was still a police officer and if he was married to someone else now, or if there was no one to fill the gap where Laura belonged in his world. Part of him was tempted to detour through Berkeley and see if all of the faculty he knew were still working there. All of the professors would be working on their summer research now. But he didn’t know how long his other self would be staying in Berkeley and the longer he was on the road, the more likely it was that they would end up switching over while driving. Derek still wasn’t sure what he thought of his other self, but he certainly didn’t want him to die.

Even in this universe, the rural landscape between Beacon Hills and Redding was familiar to Derek and all too soon he was passing the sign that cheerily announced, ‘ _Welcome to Beacon Hills!_ ’ The woods gathered on either side of the road, making the northern border of the preserve. As he drove down the highway, Derek warred with himself for a long time before he jerked the wheel and headed down the side road that cut into the woods. The pavement was cracked and the ditches were shallow on either side of the street. Most people only came down this road to park on the side and go for walks in the preserve. But further down, there was a long gravel driveway that led to the Hale house. Left unattended, the path was just compacted dirt as Derek turned into the driveway. The path was narrow, underbrush growing in closely and brushing against the sides of the car as it twisted through the trees. Finally, the path opened up in a large clearing, in the middle of which was an overgrown wreckage of charred wood.

Derek stopped the vehicle and got out, staring at the remains of his family home. The porch and most of the front of the house were still intact, but he could see where the roof and a number of the walls had collapsed. Weeds choked the garden and ivy climbed along the blackened wood. All of the windows were shattered, broken in the gas explosion or by kids after it was abandoned. Derek knew how his family had been killed, but seeing the evidence of it in front of him was a whole different story. It made what had happened real.

Heart in his throat, Derek got in the car and pulled a u-turn. Guiltily, he sent up a silent thank you that it wasn’t _his_ family who had died, and he drove away.

 

***

 

Derek’s lips were still tingling with kisses as he appeared in a motel room. Picking up his cellphone where his other self had left it on the nightstand, it was strange to see that it was the same time it had been when he left Berkeley. But then, he was no longer in New York. He briefly searched the motel room and found the stationery in a drawer, labelling it as one of the motels in Beacon Hills. So his other self made it after all.

Derek had dinner with Stiles but it wouldn’t be dark out for a few more hours, so he took his keys and left the motel room, getting into his Camaro. He didn’t bother turning on the radio as he drove down the streets, still familiar even eight years later. He went east along the road that cut through the preserve and turned into the winding driveway the led up to the Hale house. If there was anything Derek had learned about himself since the fire, it was that he had a hard time letting go. At his insistence, Laura never sold the property back to Beacon County, letting the insurance pay for its continued existence.

The last time Derek had been here, the clearing had reeked of burnt wood and plaster. It was strange to smell nothing but the woods when he exited his parked car and walked toward the ruins. As he reached the house, Derek ran a hand along the rotting banister. He helped his dad build this porch when he was thirteen. His mother had complained that there wasn’t enough room, so they extended it into a wraparound. The steps creaked beneath Derek’s feet as he climbed them, approaching the front door, hanging slightly crooked from its hinges. The door squealed in protest as it opened beneath Derek’s hand, and he took a deep breath as he took in the sight.

If there was any salvageable furniture, most of it had been looted. Sections of the floor had caved in, the edges blackened from where they’d burned through. The stairs were a wreck, partially collapsed and there was no way anyone was getting up there; but from what Derek could see, a lot of people had been here since the fire. Smashed bottles of alcohol and crushed beer cans littered the sides of the walls alongside the burnt books and picture frames. There was the strong scent of mould and musk. Derek took a step inside when a familiar voice came from behind him.

“I wouldn’t go any further if I were you.”

Derek shifted his weight, stepping around to look behind him when the floorboards gave out with a sick crack. With an alarmed cry, Derek plummeted down through the first floor and crashed into the basement, groaning. His ankle ached and as he sat up, he could see blood in the dim light.

Above, the voice called out, “Oh my god! Are you okay?”

“I’m alright,” Derek replied. “I hurt my ankle.”

“Hold on!”

Derek braced his hands against the cement floor and shifted to the side as a figure blocked out the light, lowering himself carefully through the hole and dropping to the ground next to Derek.  The man looked down at Derek with dark, concerned eyes. Though the two black bands encircling his left bicep were new, Derek would recognize that crooked jaw line anywhere.

“Scott Delgado?” he said.

The man knelt down, bringing himself level with Derek, and frowned with confusion. “No. I’m Scott _McCall._ Let me see your ankle.” Scott reached down and gently pulled up the leg of Derek’s jeans. The flesh was scraped and torn from the broken wood. Resting one hand on Derek’s shin, Scott asked, “Can you wiggle your toes for me?”

Derek chewed his lip. “Yeah, they’re working.”

“Good. Now try moving your foot.”

Derek tilted his foot to the side and hissed with pain. “Ow!”

“Okay, so your ankle is either twisted or sprained. Here, lean on me and I’ll get you out of here,” said Scott. He stood up and reached down for Derek’s hand. Derek managed to get his good foot beneath him, but as soon as he tried to put weight on his other leg, he whimpered and had to sit back down.

“This isn’t working,” said Derek. “You need to get somebody.”

“Just stay calm,” Scott told him, kneeling down once more. He reached for Derek’s injured ankle and gently pressed his fingertips to Derek’s skin. There was a faint tingling sensation and the pain immediately melted away. Derek stared, wide eyes meeting Scott’s. “It’s okay,” said Scott. “I’ve got everything under control.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long! I hope the wait was worth it!


	6. Lightning Lacking Thunder

Scott didn’t say anything about what happened in the basement of the Hale house as he helped Derek out of it.

“You’re lucky I was nearby,” said Scott cheerfully. “I come to the preserve a lot to go for runs. Keeps me in shape, you know? When I heard your car pulling up, I thought it was just some kids coming to mess around. What were you doing there anyway?”

“I’m Derek Hale. I lived there.” They made their way over to the Camaro and Derek opened the driver’s side door, sitting in it sideways.

“Weren’t you just in Beacon Hills last winter?” asked Scott.

“Briefly,” Derek replied. _Very_ briefly. He and Cora stayed only long enough to bury Laura with the rest of their family, then they were gone again.

“What are you doing back?” The question was curious, not rude.

“Catharsis.”

“Well,” Scott said with some amusement, “I doubt your plans included falling through your old entryway.”

“You know, when I decided to come see my family I meant it in a far more metaphorical sense.”  

Scott chewed his lip against a grin, looking like he wasn’t sure whether he was allowed to laugh or not. Then his eyes flickered down to Derek’s ankle. “Hey, when you first saw me, you recognized me. And not just that, but you called me by my mom’s maiden name. Now _maybe_ you recognized me from when I was fourteen, but I have no idea how you knew my mom’s last name.”

Derek searched Scott’s features and said, “Probably about the same way you were able to leech my pain away with just a touch.” The boy’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I noticed that.” Derek gestured to the seat next to him. “Get in. I have a feeling we have a lot to talk about.”

Numbly, Scott nodded and got into the passenger seat. Derek adjusted his position and shut the car door, resting his injured foot on the floor of the Camaro while his right foot was poised above the brakes. Once he and Scott were both buckled in, Derek started the car.

“Got a good place for us to speak in private?” Derek asked.

Scott gave Derek an address and they drove into the suburbs where Derek pulled up in front of a cozy Victorian house.

“I’m living with my parents over the summer since I’m working in town,” Scott told Derek as they walked up the driveway. “I’ve been working at the animal clinic since I was a teenager, and I’ve applied to vet school next fall. Anyway, my dad is away and my mom’s still at work for a few hours so we can talk here and I can have another look at your leg. It’s probably starting to hurt again.”

It was. Scott unlocked the front door and helped Derek over to the couch where he propped Derek’s foot on the coffee table. He disappeared into the kitchen briefly to fetch an ice pack—one of those bags of gel they handed out to kids who got hurt in public school—and laid it over Derek’s ankle. Then Scott took a seat next to Derek on the couch. 

“So,” said Derek, “how do you know Gerard Argent?”

“I dated his granddaughter,” Scott told him. “Allison. We were together for a few years. We broke up at the end of high school because her family moved away, but we still kept in touch and sometimes she visited. Then last summer, she came with her grandpa and he told me he could help my asthma. I agreed to it without telling my parents and signed some consent forms, then I got injected. I haven’t had an asthma attack since, but...” Scott wiggled his fingers.

“And what happened after that?” Derek asked.

“Nothing,” Scott replied. “Allison and her grandpa left. I haven’t heard from Allison since and she stopped updating her social media, but Gerard comes by once a month to renew the injections.”

“Was there anyone else?”

“No,” said Scott. “I was the only subject.”

Derek nodded. So Scott was the first of all of them. “When’s the last time you saw him?”

“Two weeks ago.” Scott frowned at Derek. “Now it’s your turn: how do _you_ know Gerard?”

“His lab is at New York University. I’m from Manhattan,” Derek explained. “There was an advertisement in the paper offering a good sum of money to patients with depressive symptoms if we participated in a clinical trial for a new treatment. There are twenty of us in total.”

Scott’s eyes went round. “And you all—?!”

“No,” said Derek. “As far as I know, only four of us received... extras.”

“When were you first injected? What can you guys do?”

“Just over a month ago. My friend, Erica, can absorb electricity and shock people. Isaac can take heat from objects and return it with a touch. Boyd is like the opposite of an empath; instead of being able to feel what everyone else can feel, everyone else feels what he feels.”

“And you?” Scott raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“I travel to a parallel universe,” said Derek. “When I cross over, I trade places with the version of me who lives there. I met you in the other world; that’s how I recognized you here.”

“And ‘Delgado’?”

Derek took a deep breath, remembering his conversation with Stiles. “In the other universe, your father had a drinking problem when you were a child. One time when he and your mother were having an argument, you got hurt and your mother told him to get out. He never came back.”

Scott sighed shakily. “Oh my god. You’re telling the truth.” He stared at Derek like he’d never seen him before. “That all happened, except my dad came home the next day and apologized. He got help for his drinking and we moved to Beacon Hills for a fresh start.”

Derek licked his lips nervously, and after a moment of hesitation, he pushed down his guilt and asked, “Do you by any chance know someone named Stiles? Or maybe Przemys _ł_ aw?”

“Stiles? No, I don’t know anyone by that name. Why?”

“In the other universe,” Derek said, “he’s your best friend. His last name is Stilinski.”

“Stilinski?” Recognition flashed in Scott’s eyes. “You mean like the police chief in Redding? His wife was my kindergarten teacher; Mrs. Stilinski.”

“Those are his parents.” Derek felt a rush of hope.

“Huh. I didn’t know they had a kid.”

“I met the other you through him. He’s been helping me.”

“And now you’re trying to find him here?” At Derek’s nod, Scott said, “He must mean a lot to you.”

Derek swallowed hard. “He does.”

Scott smiled. “Then I wish you the best of luck.”

 

After exchanging cellphone numbers with Scott, Derek drove back to the motel and went to bed. Once he had showered and gotten dressed the next morning, he got in his Camaro and headed to the cemetery. There weren’t many gravestones for the Hale plot. Derek’s grandparents each had their own stone and there were a few others for even earlier ancestors, but the bodies of those who died in the fire were too damaged to do anything but cremate what was left. For them, there was a single, large headstone listing the names of the dead. Their epitaph was a quote from a Robert Frost poem.

‘ _So Eden sank to grief._ ’

Next to their headstone were Peter’s and Laura’s. Laura picked out her own epitaph after the fire. It said, ‘ _I’ll be back._ ’ Derek smiled sadly at the inscription and knelt down to brush it gently with his fingertips.

“I miss you,” Derek said. “Every day, I miss you. I think losing you was harder than losing Mom and Dad, even Michael. We lost so many people that day they all just sort of blended into this mass of grief. But you were alone when you died, and I had this foolish idea that maybe we’d suffered enough. We made it through after the fire and we were finally okay, and now we’re not anymore. I’m sorry because that’s probably not what you want to hear, but I can’t lie to you, Laura, and the truth is that it’s harder than anything I could ever imagine.

“Do you remember what I was like those first couple years? It was like I was dead too. I was still breathing, but I wasn’t really _living._ The medication helped me realize that I wasn’t alone; I had you and Cora. After you died, I felt like I was dying all over again. So I did something stupid, or maybe it’s the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”

Derek told his family about Dr. Argent and the Neurotetraphan trial. Then he told them about the other universe.

“I met someone there,” he said. “Someone amazing. You’d love him, Mom. He’s all extremes; just in constant motion, like this force of nature. I think that’s what drew me to him. I felt so lost and so dead, and here was this person who was so vibrantly _alive_. Like a moth to flame, I just wanted to get closer to him and crazily enough, he wants me too. I got scared and tried to end things, but he wouldn’t let me. Maybe it’s a good thing he never met you, Laura. You two would have ruled the world. His name is Stiles, by the way.

“Stiles introduced me to some of his friends and they’re trying to help out. I actually met one of them in this universe—or this universe’s version of him, I should say. He’s like me: one of Argent’s test subjects. He and three others in New York developed special abilities. None of them can travel to other universes, but they’re no less remarkable.

“But now I have a dilemma: I can choose to get the next injection or I can walk away. I don’t trust Argent, but if I walk away now, I don’t know if I’ll still be able to cross into the other universe. The other me just wants his life back and I know it’s completely selfish, but I don’t want to stop seeing Stiles. I don’t know what to do.”

The headstones didn’t answer him—not that Derek expected them to. In movies, the hero always gained some sort of resolve after speaking to the graves of his loved ones, like telling his story aloud let him put things into perspective. But this wasn’t a movie and Derek wasn’t a hero, so all he felt was helpless and more than a little foolish. He blushed with shame and got to his feet, sighing.

“I love you,” he whispered.

And then he left.

 

***

 

In another world, another Derek arrived in another Beacon Hills. He drove a sensible car, not unlike one another world would call a Toyota, down a driveway that was paved with gravel, the underbrush clipped back safely from the forest path, until he came to a wide clearing where a grand house stood. He parked his car next to a van and strode up the gravel walkway to the wraparound porch, where he hopped up the steps and knocked on a red-painted door. The door opened to reveal a middle-aged woman with long, dark hair and a straight nose. At the sight of Derek, she smiled with pleasant surprise.

“Derek!” she exclaimed.

Derek took the woman tenderly into his arms and cradled the back of her head. Pressing his nose into her hair, he said, “Hey, Mom.”

 

***

 

After lunch, Derek drove to Redding. He told himself that he was only doing it because there was nothing else to do and he didn’t want to go home yet, but it was a flimsy excuse even by his own standards. He parked the Camaro in the guest lot and headed into the lobby. There was a dark-skinned policewoman at the desk, listening to an elderly gentleman complain about high school kids littering on his front lawn. Derek stood behind the man nervously, wringing his hands together. The policewoman assured the old man that they would send a notice to the high school and politely sent him on his way. She smiled at Derek and he stepped forward, pasting a fake grin on his face.

“Hi, I’m new in town so I just wanted to—”

“Tara!” called a feminine voice from behind him.

Derek turned to face the speaker and for a moment, he swore his heart stopped in his chest. Though middle-aged, the woman was very beautiful. She had brown, shoulder-length hair and an upturned nose. Her brown eyes shone like amber and her pale skin was dotted with moles. She was the spitting image of Stiles. Derek watched, enraptured, as she came up beside him and leaned over the front desk.

“Hello, Claudia,” said Tara.

“I’m just here to see my husband,” said the brown-eyed woman. She winked at Derek. “I brought some lunch for him.”

“I’m jealous!” Tara said with a grin.

As the women chatted, Derek backed away, looking at them with wonder. A policeman with sandy brown hair and blue eyes soon joined them, kissing Claudia on the cheek as he took the takeaway container from her hands.

Like a coward, Derek fled.

 

Frontotemporal dementia is a neurodegenerative disease that targets the frontal and temporal lobes of the brain. Neurons gradually die off and you slowly turn into a stranger, losing impulse control, acting out inappropriately, and displaying a lack of empathy. The prognosis for survival ranges from two to ten years. While there are clearly genetic factors that may predispose an individual to developing it, a family history of dementia is not necessarily an indicator that you will develop frontotemporal dementia as well.

Claudia Stilinski, in Stiles’ universe, was diagnosed at a relatively young age. The age of onset is forty-five to sixty-four years in sixty percent of individuals. In one universe, Claudia died and left behind her husband and ten-year-old son; in another, Claudia was still alive. Did that mean she wouldn’t develop frontotemporal dementia in this universe at all or was it only delayed? Derek hadn’t dared to wonder what he would do if he met Stiles’ other self and he felt even more uneasy now that he was faced with the reality of it. He remembered Stiles yelling at him, asking if he’d choose an undamaged Stiles over him. Derek hadn’t lied then—he had no intentions of replacing his Stiles with another—but the prospect of meeting this hypothetical Stiles who hadn’t lost his mother still filled him with equal parts nerves and hope.

Back at the motel in Beacon Hills, Derek called Scott and asked about his elementary school. Scott gave him the name happily enough, wishing him luck, and Derek drove out to Redding again the next day, using the GPS on his phone to guide him to the school. By the time he arrived it was almost lunch recess, so Derek went to the office and told the secretary that he was interested in enrolling his child in kindergarten there in September. The vice-principal immediately began giving Derek a tour of the school, telling him about the staff, extracurricular activities, and extra resources for the children and made several unsubtle hints about joining the parent council where they did fundraising events and discussed how to improve the school.

When they finally arrived at the door to Mrs. Stilinski’s classroom, Derek watched through the window as she helped the students clean up after eating. Claudia smiled her beautiful smile—the same as Stiles’—at the children as she handed them damp paper towels. She looked like a mother in every sense of the word; there was nothing of the apathy Derek had read about when he researched frontotemporal dementia last night. As the bell for recess rang, Claudia came to the door and opened it, releasing a veritable stampede of four and five-year-olds.

“Play safely!” she called after them, then her eyes alighted on Derek. “Oh! You’re the one who ran away from the police station yesterday.”

The vice-principal raised an eyebrow at Derek and he felt his face heat up.

“When you put it like that, it makes me sound like a criminal,” he said.

“Sorry!” Claudia laughed and reassured the vice-principal, “He was just at the front desk. I’m afraid I interrupted him when he was asking for assistance.”

“It wasn’t anything important,” Derek told her. “I’m just new in town so I wanted to meet some of the law enforcement; get to know the community, you know?”

“Of course,” said Claudia. The vice-principal handed Derek the enrolment forms and left them to talk for now. “Is this your first child going to school?”

“Yeah,” Derek lied. “I just wanted to check the place out first, you know?”

“Absolutely.” Claudia nodded emphatically.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you’re really amazing with these kids. Do you have your own?” Derek hoped he conveyed the interest of a concerned parent.

Claudia smiled sadly. “No. None of my own, I’m afraid. My husband and I tried when we were younger, but he was stillborn.”

The world stopped. Derek’s voice came out as a whisper. “ _He?_ ”

“The baby. He was going to be named after my father.” _Przemysław_. Claudia sighed and gave a small shrug. “But I guess some things just aren’t meant to be.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek choked out. “That must have been awful.”

“Yeah, well.” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “You get through it. That’s why I love teaching; in a way, I still get to be a mom.”

Claudia told Derek more about her role as a teacher and what they did in the classroom, but he didn’t hear it. He felt numb and a little sick. All he could think about was Stiles dead, that bright life extinguished before it could light up the world. Derek wished he’d never come here. At least before, he could hope and wonder. Now there was only crushing reality.

“Thank you so much for your time,” Derek forced himself to say in the end.

“Anytime,” Claudia said happily. “I look forward to seeing you and your child in the fall!”

Derek couldn’t get out of the school fast enough. His hands trembled on the steering wheel as he drove back to Beacon Hills and he wanted desperately to see Stiles and hold him, but he didn’t dare. He couldn’t ever tell Stiles about this.

Derek pulled into the motel parking lot and marched toward his room with his head down. He startled as he nearly ran into Scott.

“What are you doing here?” Derek demanded.

Scott shrugged and gestured at the motorcycle parked in the space next to the Camaro. “I biked. Any luck finding that Stiles guy?”

Derek stared at him. “Correction: _why_ are you here?”

“I want to go back to New York with you.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“You told me that there are other people like us there,” Scott said bluntly. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Derek crossed his arms. “Okay. Even if I did agree to take you with me, where are you planning on staying? How are you going to pay rent?”

“I talked to my boss about it today and he knows a guy from vet school who works in Manhattan.”

Derek glared and the kid folded his arms across his chest, staring back defiantly. With a sigh, Derek deflated and let his hands fall to his sides. “There’s a spare room in my loft. My sister stayed there for a while after Laura died. Have you talked to your parents about it?”

Scott grinned widely. “Yeah! Just give me tomorrow to pack and settle things with my boss and we can leave the next day.”

“Alright.”

“Sweet! You’re the best, Derek!” Scott slapped him on the shoulder enthusiastically and went to his motorbike, picking up the helmet and tugging it onto his head. “See you later, man!”

Derek waved half-heartedly as Scott turned around his bike and peeled out of the parking lot, leaving dust in his wake. Derek wondered what he’d gotten himself into. He thought suddenly of Stiles and his heart sank. With a sigh, he retreated to his motel room and made a call.

 

“Hey, Derek.”

“I’m going to sell the house back to Beacon County and have it demolished.”

Cora paused, then blurted out, “ _What?_ ”

“Are you okay with that?” Derek asked.

“Sure, but... are you in Beacon Hills right now?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Cora asked, immediately alert. “Did something happen?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot and I just... need to let go of some things before I can let go of others,” said Derek. “Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah.” Cora’s voice was sombre. “I get it.”

“So...?”

“Go for it. I think... I think we both need this. We’ve been holding onto it for far too long already.”

“Thanks. I love you.”

Cora laughed a little. “Don’t be a sap.”

“Okay,” Derek said, a small smile playing on his lips. “I won’t.”

Cora whispered, “But I love you too.”

The next day, while Scott packed, Derek went out to the charred skeleton of the Hale house once more to look around. Inside the house, Derek crept along the edges of the walls where the floor was more secure. He made his way through the rooms of the first floor, searching through the detritus for anything of value that he might miss after the house was destroyed once and for all. Mostly Derek just found rubbish, but he paused as he came back around to the front door and something went skittering across the floor as his foot kicked through a pile of dead leaves.

It was no wonder Derek had initially missed it. The small, metal object blended in with the leaves, coated in a thick layer of rust from years of exposure to the elements. With some bemusement, Derek picked up the old key, slightly warped from the heat of the flames. He scraped at its surface with his thumbnail, sending up reddish brown flakes. He pocketed the key and resumed his tentative search of the house, even lowering himself carefully through the hole near the entryway to look through the basement (though most of the floor had collapsed, so it was a fruitless endeavour).

Derek returned to his motel, took a shower, and changed into clean clothes before going out to his and Laura’s old favourite diner. His waitress did a double-take as she realized who she was serving but, thankfully, she didn’t comment or ask Derek what he was doing back in town. With some grim amusement, Derek wondered if she thought he was here to bury his other sister. When he got back to the motel that night, he called the Beacon County mayoral office and asked to have the sale of the Hale property arranged. He was told that they would send some finalizing documents to Derek’s address in Manhattan for him to sign and settle the final details.

Scott’s parents drove him over to the motel in the morning. Mrs. McCall (“Just call me Melissa.”) was a small woman, dark eyed and dark haired, with a gentle smile. She told Derek in no uncertain terms that if anything happened to Scott in New York, she’d hold Derek personally responsible. Mr. McCall, on the other hand, was a few inches taller than Derek. He was a somewhat awkward man, but he helped Scott transfer his bags from their family car to the trunk of Derek’s Camaro. The family of three exchanged hugs and “I love you”s, and then Derek and Scott were on the road.

At first, they mostly talked business. Scott told Derek more about his abilities and how he sometimes used them for the animals at the vet clinic when they were injured.

“And your boss never noticed?” asked Derek.

“Why would he?” said Scott. “It’s not like the dogs were going to tell him.”

It turned out Scott didn’t trust Gerard Argent either. He said the man reminded him of a shark with those sharp, predatory eyes. Scott only continued with the injections because he was worried that his asthma would return without them. He confessed that he also rather liked being able to take away others’ pain, and it was useful to him as an aspiring veterinarian.

As their conversation followed tangents into new territory, Derek found himself speaking less while Scott talked more. Scott wasn’t nearly as talkative as Stiles, but he seemed content to fill the silence with stories from his years in college. Derek’s attention wandered, but the cadence of Scott’s voice wasn’t grating, so he let it continue without protest. Scott tried in vain to bring up Stiles twice more, but as Derek stubbornly kept his silence the younger man eventually let the topic go.

Scott was eager to get out of the car and stretch his legs when they pulled into a motel in Nevada that night. Derek booked the room and gave Scott one of the keys before he bought some take-out for them to eat for dinner. Scott demolished his half of the food and then gazed longingly as Derek took his time with his own. Derek ate three quarters of his meal before handing off the rest to the younger man, who grinned excitedly as he thanked Derek. Derek eyed Scott’s lean frame and wondered where it all went.

During the second day of driving, Scott tuned the radio to a station that played pop-punk from the early 2000s and sang along boisterously. Derek threatened to stab him in the throat with the pen in his glove box. That night, Derek told Scott a little more about Erica, Isaac, and Boyd. Scott listened with rapt attention, drinking in everything Derek said. It struck Derek then that it must have been very lonely for Scott, having no one to share his experience with. The only people who knew about Scott’s ability to alleviate pain were Derek, Gerard, and maybe Allison.

“Maybe?” Derek asked.

“She never texted me back,” Scott said, and that was the only time he mentioned Allison during the drive. Derek pictured Scott texting his ex-girlfriend frantically after taking away a dog’s pain, frightened and excited by this bizarre happenstance.

It wasn’t until the fourth and final day of driving that Derek volunteered more information about his ability to jump between worlds, but even then he wasn’t completely forthright. He told Scott nothing of Stiles or the fact that his family was still alive. Instead, he told Scott how the World Trade Center was still standing and how he suspected that the Titanic hadn’t sank either. He mentioned the fact that his other self lived in Berkeley, but elaborated no further; Scott could deduce from that what he would.

In all honesty, Derek was trying his best not to think about Stiles. He didn’t know what was worse: the fact that there was no Stiles in his universe or the fact that Stiles had existed for a brief time before he died without ever leaving the womb. He simultaneously yearned to see Stiles and wanted to stay as far away as possible. Stiles was right. He _was_ afraid. But all the same...

When they finally arrived at Derek’s apartment in Manhattan, Derek grabbed his own bag in one hand and helped carry Scott’s luggage with the other. They took the elevator up to Derek’s floor and he set down his bag to unlock the door before they went in. Derek led Scott up the spiral staircase and showed him to the guest room where they divested themselves of the luggage, then Derek put his bag in his own room before giving Scott a brief tour. Scott looked around the loft with awe, marvelling at Derek’s art.

At the end of the tour, Scott placed a hand on Derek’s shoulder and said, “Hey, I really appreciate you doing this for me. You barely even know me.”

“You’re one of us,” Derek said, and Scott smiled at him warmly.

As Scott headed back up to his room to unpack, Derek remained frozen in the open living room. ‘ _One of us_ ,’ he’d said to Scott. The response had been automatic; he didn’t even think about it. When Erica, Isaac, and Boyd had been here, he’d felt this disconnect from them like they were part of a small world separate from his; which, in a way, they were. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that Derek was part of a world separate from them. Regardless, they were in this together, and that meant Derek had to stick it out with them until the end.

Derek went to his kitchen and found the consent sheet from Argent for the second dose of Neurotetraphan. Derek was several days overdue, but he read the number on the page and took out his phone, dialling. When Gerard answered, Derek said, “Hi, this is Derek Hale. I was wondering if it’s too late to book that second injection?”

 

“Mr. Hale, I thought I’d seen the last of you,” Gerard Argent said as Derek entered his lab office and sat down.

“You almost did,” Derek admitted. “I was in California.”

“Ah, were you visiting family?”

Derek thought of his walk in the cemetery. “Sure.”

Argent asked Derek the usual questions about his health and whether or not he was experiencing any out of the ordinary side-effects from the medication. Derek told him, no. After checking Derek’s vitals, Gerard finally prepared the syringe and, once he’d wiped at Derek’s skin with an alcohol swab to sterilize it, carefully injected the fluid into Derek’s arm. While they waited to make sure there were no immediate problems, Gerard asked Derek about his trip to California.

When Derek told him that he made the journey alone, Gerard said, “It must have been a lonely drive.”

Derek was struck suddenly with an impulse. “Actually, I brought a friend back with me.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” And watching Gerard very carefully, Derek said, “His name is Scott. We both grew up in Beacon Hills.”

“I see.”

Nothing. Gerard didn’t even falter as he continued his paperwork. He gave no indication of even recognizing Scott’s name. Derek had always been suspicious of Argent, but never before had he been truly afraid of the man.

At the end of the half hour, they traded goodbyes pleasantly and shook hands. Derek suppressed a shiver.

 

Scott wasn’t alone when Derek got back to the loft. As soon as Derek opened the door, Erica was throwing her arms around his neck, saying his name ecstatically. Derek patted her back, eyebrows drawing together with confusion, and he looked over her shoulder at Scott, who sat on the couch between Boyd and Isaac.

“What are you doing here?” Derek asked Erica.

“We were in the area and I saw your Camaro in the parking lot. I thought we’d come give you a surprise,” she explained. “Imagine my astonishment when I knocked on the door and a twink opened the door instead of you.”

Derek shot Scott an accusatory glare and the boy shrugged. “I told them you’d be back soon anyway.”

To Erica, Derek said, “I spent a lot of money on gas driving to and from California so I took the bus.”

“So you got the injection then?” asked Boyd.

Derek met his eyes and nodded. “Yeah. Did Scott tell you guys...?”

“That he’s the original?” said Erica. “Yep!”

“How was California?” asked Isaac. “Did you do some soul searching?”

“Sort of,” Derek said.

Derek ordered pizza for them and then he began to work on his painting while Erica, Isaac, Boyd, and Scott got to know each other better. Every so often, one of them would direct a question at Derek and he would offer a brief response before returning to his painting. It was strangely peaceful.

After they ate, they each began to demonstrate their powers to each other. Erica, Isaac, and Boyd were amazed at Scott’s ability to take pain and in turn, Scott watched with awe as Erica stuck a fork into an electrical socket and shocked him. Isaac froze and unfroze a leftover slice of pizza, but what amazed Scott the most was when Boyd turned to Erica and they all felt a flash of _desire._ Erica flushed afterward and Derek’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. _Huh._

Derek was almost finished his painting by the time Scott looked at him and said, “Okay, now it’s your turn.”

Derek stared at Scott blankly. “What?”

“Come on,” he pressed. “It’s time for you to put your money where your mouth is. Show us your world-jumping!”

“Yeah,” Isaac piped in. “I want to meet the other you.”

Derek sighed and cleaned up his art supplies before he sat on the floor in front of them and closed his eyes. He cleared his mind and reached for that familiar sensation. It rushed at him suddenly and quickly, like an excited dog, and with far more ease than it ever had before. The world tipped on its axis and Derek gasped, blinking alone in the kitchen in Berkeley.

The sun was shining brightly through the window and before Derek could even think about it, he was standing with his phone to his ear, listening to Stiles’ phone ring. There was a soft click and then Stiles’ voice was booming over the line.

“ _Where the hell have you been?!_ ”

Derek winced. “I’m sorry. I had to make a tough decision and some things happened.”

Stiles’ tone immediately became concerned. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Derek assured him. He wasn’t. Hearing Stiles’ voice filled him with guilt but, _god_ , he wanted to see him. “There are some things we should talk about. You should bring Lydia and Scott over.”

“More news about our mad scientist?”

“Among other things. I haven’t exactly told you everything, for reasons you’ll understand once I explain it to you,” said Derek.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” said Stiles. “But in return, I reserve the right to make out with you whenever I please.”

Derek couldn’t help but smile fondly. “You already reserve that right.”

“Just give me the illusion that I hold something over you, okay?”

“Okay.”

Derek ended up tidying the house while he waited for Stiles to arrive with Scott and Lydia. He needed something physical to do to keep him anchored so that his mind wouldn’t float into the ether. Derek washed the few dishes that were in the sink and cleaned the living room, replacing books on shelves and removing the clutter from the top of the coffee table. He was just finishing up with vacuuming the first floor an hour after he’d called Stiles when there was a knock on the door. Derek hastily tucked the vacuum cleaner back into the front closet and opened the door. Stiles stood at the front of the group with a small smile while Lydia and Scott stood behind him. Lydia wore an aloof expression on her face while Scott grinned excitedly. The subtle differences between this Scott and the Scott currently residing in Derek’s loft were eerie, like a picture frame hanging just barely crookedly on the wall.

“Hey,” Derek said. “Come in.”

With a sly twist to his lips, Stiles stepped into Derek’s space and kissed him softly in greeting before moving aside to give Scott and Lydia room to enter as well. Derek brushed his thumb against his lips to savour the feeling and Lydia raised an eyebrow at him. With a shrug, Derek led them to the living room and took a seat on the couch. Stiles sat next to him, pressing their sides together, while Scott and Lydia each took an armchair to themselves.

“So,” said Lydia, crossing her legs, “I’m assuming there’s a reason you had Stiles bring us today.”

“Yes,” Derek replied. Stiles slipped his hand into Derek’s, lacing their fingers together. Derek squeezed it gently and pressed his lips together before he continued. “First things first: today I got a second dose of the drug that started this all.” To Stiles, he said, “That’s why I haven’t been here in so long. I needed to make the decision on my own without any outside influences.”

Stiles asked, “Is it selfish of me to feel glad that you took illicit drugs from a creepy doctor?”

“Yes.”

Stiles smirked remorselessly.

“But that’s not everything,” said Scott, “is it?”

“No,” said Derek. “I’m not the only one who gained... er, _abilities_ as a result of the drug trial. I didn’t want to say anything before because it’s not my story to tell.”

“What changed?” asked Lydia.

“When I was trying to decide whether or not to get the second injection, I went back to my hometown, Beacon Hills. While I was there, I went to check out my family’s old home; it was really stupid. I ended up falling through the floor into the basement and twisting my ankle, but somebody helped me out.” Derek looked up at Scott. “It was you.”

Scott’s eyes went round and then he was fist-pumping. “ _Yes!_ ” he cried. “There totally _is_ another me!” He leaned forward eagerly. “What is he like? Is he cool? Does he have a hot girlfriend?”

“He’s like me,” Derek said.

“A poor conversationalist?” said Stiles. Derek glared at him. “I’m kidding. You’re great.”

“He means,” said Lydia with a look of dawning realization, “that the other Scott has unique abilities as well.”

Derek nodded. “He’s the first of us.”

“What does he do?” asked Scott.

“When I twisted my ankle, he touched my leg and the pain just drifted away. I wasn’t healed; it just didn’t hurt anymore.”

“Does he receive injections regularly?” asked Lydia.

“Yes.”

“And do they... affect him in any way?”

“He told me it helped his control.”

“Is he still in Beacon Hills?” asked Scott.

“No.” Derek flushed. “I actually brought him back to New York with me. He was glad that there were others like him and he wanted to meet all of us.” Stiles was chewing his lip in silence and Derek glanced at him with concern. “Hey, what are you thinking?”

Stiles cleared his throat and stared down at his lap with a carefully neutral expression. “Did you by any chance meet this other Scott’s best friend?”

Derek’s heart thudded in his chest and he forced himself to say, “No. The other Scott moved to Beacon Hills when he was just a kid, so he may not have ever known you.”

“So you didn’t go looking for me?” Stiles asked, meeting his eyes.

Derek forced himself not to look away and he was filled with deep self-loathing as he said, “No, I didn’t.”

Stiles nodded, looking relieved, and Derek felt sick with himself.

“With both iterations of you and Scott nearby,” said Lydia, “do you think it’s possible that you could bring the other Scott over here?”

Scott’s jaw dropped. “You mean I could see the other universe?”

“Maybe if both versions of us held hands,” said Derek. “I don’t know though.”

Stiles shrugged, “Well there’s no harm in trying, right?”

But first Derek had to ask, “Are you alright with this, Scott?”

“Yeah!” Scott nodded vigorously. “Absolutely!”

“Okay,” said Derek. “I’ll be back in a bit; with or without Scott.” He squeezed Stiles’ hand before his boyfriend shifted aside, giving him space for when his other self returned. Then Derek closed his eyes and jumped.

 

***

 

Derek blinked with surprise as he found himself standing in his other self’s apartment. Whenever he had crossed over before, he had been alone. But now as he stood in the open living room, he had an audience of four, gaping at him in shock. The group consisted of Erica, a young black man, a pale skinned man with blond curls, and a Mexican man he recognized from a picture on Stiles’ phone.

“Scott?” Derek said.

“You have glasses,” he replied dumbly.

“He was telling the truth,” said the blond boy.

Derek looked between them awkwardly.

“I’m Boyd,” said the black man abruptly.

The blond seemed to sag with relief. “Isaac.”

“I’m Scott, but I guess you already knew that.”

“Derek Hale, but I guess _you_ guys already know that since you’re in his apartment.” He looked to Erica for an explanation.

“They’re like us,” she said. “Boyd’s feelings can be contagious, Isaac absorbs and dispels heat, and Scott is walking morphine, minus the fun side-effects.”

“And you’re all here because of Argent?” Derek asked.

“Yeah,” said Scott.

They each launched into their stories and Derek listened with astonishment. Scott told them about his torrid romance with Argent’s granddaughter and how she’d disappeared from his radar after he was conned into taking Neurotetraphan. Isaac told them how he accidentally froze drinks and scorched papers afterward. Boyd told them of the unsettling mirrored behaviour before he learned to control his emotional transference.

In return, Derek told them about his experiences when he first started being shuffled between the universes by his other self. He told them about his initial fear and confusion and how communicating with his other self through Stiles and written messages had helped him understand what was going on.

They were especially curious about Stiles. “Is he hot?” Erica asked.

Derek frowned, feeling his face warm up a little. “He’s a good-looking guy, sure.”

“What is he like?” asked Scott.

“He’s smart and sarcastic and very talkative,” said Derek.

“What does he do for work?” asked Isaac.

“He’s a writer,” said Derek. “I know he has one book published; I’ve been trying to find it but he refuses to tell me his penname. I think he’s shy about it.”

Erica cooed.

“How about you?” asked Boyd. “What do you do?”

“History. I’m a TA at UC Berkeley.”

“I bet you’re the TA all of the students want to fuck,” Erica said with a lecherous grin.

“Um.” Derek ducked his head with embarrassment. “There’s been some flirting, I guess... But I would never do that with one of my students.”

Without warning, Derek felt a tingling sensation and then reality twisted and he was blinking on the couch in his own home with Stiles sitting next to him. Seated in one of the armchairs was another Scott, and in the other armchair was a young woman with strawberry blonde hair; Stiles had shown him a picture of her once. Her name started with an L...

“Lila?” Derek asked.

The woman raised her eyebrows. “Lydia.”

“ _Lydia_. Sorry. I’m Derek.” He frowned, turning to Stiles. “Why am I back so soon?”

“We’re trying an experiment,” said Stiles. “Scott here is going to trade places with me and then you’re going to hold hands.”

“Okay... Why?”

“Derek’s going to try to bring the other Scott over here,” said Scott. “He thinks it will work better if we’re touching.”

“Do you think it’s going to work at all?” Derek glanced around at his companions.

“Maybe.” Stiles shrugged. “I guess we’re about to find out.” He stood up and took Scott’s armchair while Scott sat down next to Derek, taking his hand with an awkward smile.

“This is going to be so cool,” said Scott.

Derek made a face. “It’s okay.”

“You’re just saying that because the other Derek’s life sucks.”

Derek gaped at Scott before turning to Stiles. Stiles simply shrugged again.

“I said the same thing to him. Trust me: the dude knows his life is complete crap. There’s no need to look so scandalized.”  

“How soon do you think we’re going to—” Derek’s sentence was cut off as the world fell away and he was sitting in Manhattan again. His hand was still clasped in Scott’s, but which Scott was it?

Derek turned and saw Scott looking around the apartment with an expression of wonder. Erica, Isaac, and Boyd were staring at him incredulously.

“Holy shit...” Scott met Derek’s eyes and a wide grin spread across his face. “It worked!”

 

***

 

When Derek told Scott to sit on the floor with him and take his hand, he never expected it to work. He thought he would just end up sitting on his living room floor, feeling awkward, and maybe he’d jump into the other universe alone and leave his other self feeling awkward. As it was, he was overwhelmed with exhaustion and he didn’t think he’d be jumping back home anytime soon. Scott had spent a few minutes taking in his surroundings, but now he and Stiles were locked in a staring match.

After a long moment, Scott said, “You look just like your mom.”

Derek bit his lip, hard.

Stiles sucked in a sharp breath and sat up straight. “You knew my mom?”

“Yeah.” Scott smiled. “She taught me kindergarten.”

Stiles smiled down at his lap. “Yeah, she was a kindergarten teacher here too.”

“So, Scott,” said Lydia, “Derek told us you were the first to receive the drug treatments.”

“That’s right,” Scott said, turning to her.

“Derek lives in Manhattan; how did _you_ get into this?”

“Derek told me that your Scott’s dad left,” said Scott. “My dad didn’t. We moved to Beacon Hills when I was a kid and when I was in high school I met this girl, Allison, who moved there in sophomore year. We dated for years, but her family moved away after she graduated. We kept in touch, but then a year ago she told me her grandfather was developing this medication that could cure my asthma and was looking for a human test subject.” He shrugged. “I said, ‘sure.’ I haven’t heard from Allison since. She just seemed to drop off the map entirely.”

“Did it work?” asked Stiles.

“Actually, yeah.” Scott replied. “I haven’t had an asthma attack since I was treated. It just came with the unexpected side effect of enrolling in Gerard Argent’s School for Gifted Youngsters.” Derek rolled his eyes and Scott looked from Stiles to Lydia, waiting for them to get the reference. His face fell. “Seriously? I thought Erica was joking when she said you guys didn’t have _X-Men._ ”

Lydia leaned forward, watching Scott with an intense gaze. “Did you just say the name of the doctor who did this to you and Derek was named Gerard _Argent?_ ”

“Yeah,” said Scott. “Why?”

Lydia slapped Stiles in the arm.

“Ow!” he cried. “What the hell was that for?”

“Why didn’t you tell me his name was Argent?” Lydia demanded.

“Derek didn’t tell me his name!” Stiles said, shooting Derek an accusing glare.

“I didn’t think it was important,” said Derek.

“Well you thought wrong,” Lydia sneered.

“Why?” Scott asked with bafflement. “What’s so special about him?”

Turning to Stiles, Lydia asked, “Remember how I told you my best friend from university is visiting soon?”

“Yeah,” said Stiles. “What about her?”

Lydia fixed her eyes on Scott. “My best friend’s name is Allison Argent.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr [here](http://thecomedownchampion.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
